


Night Of The Boy King

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - Raised apart, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Psychic Sam, Raised Apart, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Wincest - Freeform, accidental Wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester realized that something was "off" about Sammy when the boy was about seven. He abandoned him with the best demonologist he knew, Pastor Jim Murphy in Blue Earth, Minnesota. A little over ten years later, his older son Dean is ready to take on the demon that destroyed his family. All signs point to Blue Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN_Reversebang challenge over on LJ. 
> 
> My artist was LJ user expectative, and was very involved with developing the plot. I fell in love with the picture I claimed, and was very lucky to have managed to get it! 
> 
> My beta, elwarre, was as always fantastic. 
> 
> The Jolly Green Giant statue is real.
> 
> The Mrs. Lyle incident is mentioned in John Winchester's Journal.

Jim Murphy heard the Impala’s low, rumbling engine before he saw her headlights. In all the time he’d known the man – seven years, give or take a week or two – the guy hadn’t even considered trading the thing in or ditching it altogether. It seemed shortsighted to the priest. A hunter needed to be very circumspect in his activities and the Impala was memorable. It stood out to the eye, to the ear. It also guzzled gas like the stuff cost a nickel a gallon and that hadn’t been the case in well over two decades. It wasn’t like John had deep pockets. But neither John nor Dean, when the subject was brought up with the boy, would hear of unloading the thing and driving something that blended in a little bit better. Jim shrugged. It was their funeral, he supposed.

He opened the door to the rectory and went to wait out front. Much to his surprise, John didn’t stop in front of the parish residence. Tonight he followed the driveway around to the back of the church instead, parking in the lot behind the small sanctuary where he couldn’t be seen from the street. Jim felt his palms get sweaty as he trotted around the building. This wasn’t typical, not of John. He wasn’t a back-door kind of guy when it came to Jim and his house. Neither was the marked lack of a boy with dirty blond hair and a cocky smirk in the shotgun seat. Now, he was all for hunters changing things up from time to time, it kept them from getting tracked down by whatever nasty critter of the week might be looking for them, but when it came to something this basic and familiar a change like this couldn’t bode well for anyone.

John killed the engine just as he saw Jim turn the corner, opening the car door and sliding out with a grace that shouldn’t be possible in such a large man. “Jim,” he greeted in his quiet, growling voice. “Thanks for agreeing to see us.”

“It’s never a problem to see you, John,” the priest replied. “You know that.” He hated himself, just for a moment, for lowering his voice just because John felt the need to whisper. There was plenty of space around them; it was eleven o’clock at night for crying out loud, and the only businesses near the church were all closed. “What’s going on? Where’s Dean? Is he okay?” Deep inside the car, Jim could just make out tiny little Sammy, seven years old but sized like he was four or five. The kid was all hair and eyes, he thought, as the boy shrunk into the seat.

“Dean’s fine. Let’s go inside, out of the open.” The patriarch glanced around himself before opening the back door. “Come on, boy. Don’t dally.”

John wouldn’t even look at his youngest son, Jim realized as the child scrambled across the bench seat. He helped the boy emerge onto the pavement while John circled around and grabbed a pair of very small bags from the trunk. With confusion, Jim recognized them as a duffel and a small backpack. “You carry your own crap, boy,” John snarled at the child, almost knocking the boy over as he shoved them into his arms. The overhead light in the parking lot, activated by their motion, went out. Jim didn’t think anything of it – they probably needed their bulbs replaced – but John’s jaw clenched.

Sammy didn’t complain or cry out. He just blinked and staggered a little as he accepted the burden, following his father as the man stormed into the house. Jim folded his lips together and put a hand on the boy’s head, following along behind him.

They entered the rectory by the rear door. “Can I offer you something to eat?” Jim asked. “I don’t have much but I can probably manage a peanut butter sandwich.”

“No thanks, padre,” John said. “I won’t be staying.”

“John, what’s going on?” Jim demanded as his guest sat heavily in his chair. “I’m not… where’s Dean? Is he hurt? What’s happening here, John?” He met John’s eyes squarely. Out of all of their mutual acquaintances he was one of the few who wasn’t intimidated by the frankly single-minded hunter. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re running from.”

John glanced at Sammy. “Boy? Go play in the sanctuary.”

Sammy didn’t say a word. He stared his father down for a while, too long for it to be just fatigue or incomprehension. Then he walked down the narrow passageway between the rectory and the church itself, taking only a book from his backpack.

John visibly relaxed when the door closed behind the boy. “I… Jim, it’s a lot to ask, but I need your help.”

Jim frowned. “Anything, John. You know that.”

“I don’t know that when you hear what I need from you.”

His sigh now was more one of aggravation than anything else. “Just spit it out.”

“I’ve… well, you know I’ve had some concerns about Sam for a while. He’s not like Dean, Jim.”

“Well, no. That’s because he’s Sam. A separate person. His entire experience has been different from Dean’s. He didn’t have the stability Dean had for the first five years of his life for one thing.” He also hadn’t had the nurturing presence of two loving parents that Dean had – Mary had died and John could hardly be described as affectionate or even interested. Not in Sam, anyway. But John didn’t seem to be in the right headspace to hear that right now.

“He’s been reading since he was what, three? That ain’t right. I didn’t teach him that,” the bulky hunter pressed.

“No. I did,” Jim shot back. “Taught him Latin when you left him here that time that Dean had chicken pox, too. Which you didn’t seem to object much to at the time, if I recall. What’s this about, John?” He couldn’t shake the cold pit in his stomach, the one belying the sweat at his temples.

“Something killed my Mary, Jim.”

“And you think it was Sam.”

“What? No. He was six months old! But… I don’t think that whatever it was… I don’t think that it was going after Mary. I think that Mary died trying to defend him from whatever it was.” He swallowed and looked back up at Jim. “I think it might have… wanted him for something.”

“What the hell does a demon want with an infant, John? I mean, I’ve heard of some demons that eat babies – Lilith, for example. But not… if it had wanted to eat Sammy it would have just eaten him. Not left him there.”

“The boy ain’t right, Jim! A few weeks ago…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “A few weeks ago he entered the science fair at school. I don’t know how he managed that because I sure as hell didn’t allow it. But he entered, and he won even though older kids were in it, and his teacher wanted to bring him to some states thing.” His face colored up. “She was a succubus, Jim.”

The priest opened his mouth and closed it again. “Did she….”

“With Sam? God, no. He’s only seven.” He reddened even more. “I’m… I’ve been lonely.”

“A succubus can be very hard to resist, John. I’ve known men of the cloth who couldn’t resist their seductions. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He put a comforting hand on the man’s arm.

John shook it off. “Damn it man, I’m supposed to be better than that! But apparently I’m not.” He buried his face in his hands. “Anyway. She was very insistent. Kept saying Sammy was ‘special.’” He spat out the word like an olive pit. “Said it was her job to make sure he reached his full potential. After Dean rescued us –”

“Dean got involved?”

“Yeah. He, uh, he saved both of us. Anyway, after he saved us both I did some research over at Bobby Singer’s, and you know what? I found some lore that says that succubae are sometimes sent to collect…” He choked up. “Sent to collect the children sired by… by incubi. Or by other demons, Jim.”

“I see,” the priest said after a moment. Hatred, tinged with rage, welled up in him; he automatically assigned himself all of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary as penance. “John, demons lie. And just because that’s one function they perform doesn’t mean it’s something they always do. Maybe she just saw an opportunity and took it. Sammy’s not…” He sighed. “Sure he’s precocious. He’s a genius –”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” John sneered.

“I would. He’s smarter than any other kid that age that I’ve met. But Dean’s smart too. So are you, for that matter. And since you don’t have time for fools, I’m guessing that neither was Mary. The fact that he’s brilliant doesn’t mean that he’s… unclean.”

John gave him the bitterest laugh he’d ever heard. “How about moving things around the motel room? Or affecting the electronics?”

Jim froze. “You’re joking.”

“I hadn’t noticed before. I mean sure, the electronics were always getting screwed up in the motels we stayed in, but they were crap motels. What were we expecting, state of the art? But after his seventh birthday he stopped asking for me to reach things for him. I figured he’d just been asking Dean to do it – I mean, I’m a busy guy, I work hard. When I get home the last thing I need is some whiny kid wanting cereal off the top shelf, you know? But then I saw him actually do something.”

Something told Jim that Sam wasn’t going to burst into fits of telekinesis, even if he were capable of it, just for some food. He’d seen the boy forget to eat for days on end, until someone remembered to feed him. “What happened to Dean, John?”

He shook his head ruefully. “He left the motel room when I told him not to. I was about to punish him – the boy needs to learn to take orders, Jim – but… something pushed me away. I went flying into the wall on the other side of the room. This was about a week after the Mrs. Lyle incident. He got a bit of a nosebleed after that, and his head hurt him, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it was him.

“I took him and Dean and we moved to another motel – I told them that it was a spirit that we’d salted into the room with us. But I think the boy knows the truth. I mean, that’s demonic right there.” He shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t have him around Dean, Jim.”

“There are plenty of human psychics, John.” He couldn’t prevent the note of disapproval from entering his voice. “Missouri Mosely, for one. You know her; you’ve made use of her services.”

“That’s different. We don’t have demons calling her ‘special.’”

“We don’t know that. We just don’t have them saying that to us, because she’s not part of our family. Do you really believe, in your heart of hearts, that Mary was even remotely unfaithful to you?”

John looked pained. “I… uh… we were having a lot of problems, back then. I drank, probably more than I ought. If I’d been possessed and the thing blacked me out it might not have pinged either of us as being weird.” He hung his head and looked away. “I mean, I don’t know. I just don’t know. And there’s no way for me to know, except for what that bitch told me. That’s all I have to go on. That and a freak for a son. Even if he’s not half-demon –”

“You bite your tongue John Winchester!” Jim seethed.

“It’s a possibility, Jim!” he insisted. “Even if he isn’t, he’s a freak. You know he’s fair game now, Jim. If other hunters ever figure out that he’s telekinetic, it’s over for him. That’s even without hell-bitches stroking his ego and telling him he’s ‘special.’” John had an exceptional hatred for that word; he kept saying it like he had bitten into a dandelion head. “I just… I’m kind of at the end of my rope. I mean, I know what I should do. I should take him out to a field somewhere –”

“If you finish that sentence, John, I won’t bother bringing you out to a field somewhere. I’ll tell Sammy you were possessed. And they will never, ever find your body.”

John smiled grimly. “I knew I came to the right place. I don’t want to have to do that, Jim. See, no matter what Sammy is, no matter why he was left alive when Mary was killed, I have to think that there’s a reason. I have to think that the thing that killed Mary isn’t done with him – isn’t done with us yet. And even if he’s not my son he’s still Mary’s son. I was there. I saw it. I don’t want him to get killed. I don’t want to kill Mary’s son. But… I mean, who knows who’s pulling his strings here? Or who will be in the future?”

Jim closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. “So leave him here, John.”

Winchester’s eyes glittered. “Really?”

“I think he’ll be better off. And this parish is on holy ground. If there is a… demonic influence on the boy then the holy ground should counter it.” He wasn’t sure which he was fighting harder, an eye roll or a swallow of fear. In the end it didn’t matter; he fought it all the same. “I think I’m probably in the best possible position to help the boy.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. He can never see his brother again. It’s best if Sam Winchester just… disappears. I’ve got faked papers and everything in his backpack, everything you’ll need. You’ll never see or hear from me again, Jim.” He took the priest’s hand and shook it.

“John, wait!”

But John was already out the door. Jim sighed and turned to go find Sammy.

He found his charge in the sanctuary, curled up on the floor at the foot of the altar. His face was lax in sleep; he looked like an angel. Jim lifted the child effortlessly; he really needed to make sure that the child ate better if he was going to be caring for him for the rest of his life. There was no way that there was anything demonic about the boy. There probably wasn’t even anything remotely psychic about him. John had a history of drinking problems even by his own admission; no one who had spent any amount of time around him could possibly be blind to his temper or his drinking habits. He’d probably fallen over on his own and let the drink fill in the blanks for him.

It was only after he’d gotten the boy safely tucked away in the guest room, his room hereafter, that he realized that he hadn’t left any candles on in the sanctuary. They’d all been blazing brightly when he’d gone in to fetch Sam.


	2. Part One

Dean rolled off the couch. Funny – Dad had been dead for months and Dean still slept on the couch, like it was his spot and Dad was going to come in the door and demand the guest room any minute now. He might, he supposed. He could go out and maybe make a deal for him. People did it all the time, didn’t they? It wouldn’t take much. Just a photo, graveyard dirt, bones of a black cat and a kiss and Dad would be back. He’d even get ten good years to try to help him find the thing that had killed Mom before he got dragged down to Hell, where, let’s face it, the kind of son who couldn’t have already been useful in finding the thing that had killed the woman who had given him life belonged. Or the kind of son who couldn’t have saved his father, who had bled out in his arms only after Dean had exorcised the demon possessing him back to Hell where he’d belonged.

Or the kind of brother that had completely failed to save his brother. What kind of brother just… kept on keeping on? He’d had a long ten years – grown up, discovered girls, gone on his first solo hunt, had his father’s back, made his daddy proud (he thought, sometimes – Dad had given him the Impala and his leather jacket, right?). Sammy hadn’t ever had that opportunity. He’d died, undersized and silent in the backseat of Dad’s car on the way to the hospital. Dad hadn’t even wanted to bring the body back, hadn’t wanted to put Dean through the trauma of having to torch his baby brother which Dean totally appreciated. But still, Dean had failed, and failed badly.

He couldn’t remember how he’d failed. It had only been ten years and maybe a little bit of change but apparently a lot could happen in ten years. He’d have thought that the memory would be seared into his brain but no, he couldn’t even remember what it was that he’d done wrong that had lost him baby Sammy in the first place. “Traumatic amnesia,” Bobby called it, the brain protecting itself. Dean called it another failure, because he didn’t deserve to forget something as important as that.

He stretched and put his boots on. Not that Bobby didn’t run a tight ship but he just didn’t feel right walking around barefoot. You never knew when you might be forced to run. Vengeful spirit. Angry vampire. Jealous husband. Any and all of these things could make a man need to get out of Dodge in a hurry. Once his feet were suitably clad he made his way into the kitchen only to find that Bobby had started coffee and bacon.

Not good. Somehow Bobby had made it down the stairs and gotten to moving around the kitchen without his having noticed. He was getting too comfortable around here; it was time to move on. At least for a while. He’d always have Bobby’s place to come back to, but he needed to keep moving if he wanted to find the yellow-eyed freak that had killed everyone else in his family.

“Sleep well?” he asked the older hunter.

“Like a rock,” Bobby told him. He’d been with Bobby when Dad had taken Sammy off to the hospital, and it had been Bobby to console him when Dad had brought the car back empty. “How about you, princess? Or did you find the pea I hid under your mattress?”

“I’m pretty sure that was an old Lego, Bobby.” It hadn’t really been a Lego, probably been a bottlecap or something. The only one to let them have Legos had been Pastor Jim. Of course, Sammy had left them around everywhere anyway, a little breadcrumb trail of his existence in red and yellow and green plastic. Dean had stuck a couple into the air vents in the Impala just to see what would happen; they were still in there somewhere, rattling away any time he tried to turn on the heater.

“So. I might have found us a case.”

“Us?” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Is there an incubus raising Cain among the women of Sioux Falls and I somehow missed out on the competition?”

“No, idjit.” Somehow Bobby’s scowl looked surlier through his beard. “Found some fairly heavy duty demonic omens in Minnesota. I figured it would be a good thing to go and check out. I wouldn’t go into something like this by myself; even your daddy wouldn’t.”

Dean bristled. Bobby didn’t have the right to cast aspersions on his dad like that. No one did. Of course, Bobby probably didn’t mean anything by it. Going in solo if there were really “heavy duty” demon signs was probably a pretty stupid thing to do. And he had too much work to do to get himself killed by stupidity.

He was the last Winchester left alive; it was all down to him now.

“All right. Minnesota, huh? Should I get the ice boots or what?”

“No, jackass. The town ain’t even far away. It’s two hours’ drive. It’s in the most southern part of the state, practically in Iowa. It’s April; I’m pretty sure the thaw has hit by now.” He rolled his eyes. “Have some coffee, Dean. It’ll jump start those synapses for you.”

He accepted the mug with some grace. The words were meant kindly, after all. “So what’s the deal?”

“I don’t know for sure. I know that there’s been a strange rash of cattle deaths in the towns surrounding Blue Earth ever since February and that insect activity has really picked up. They went to dig a grave in a nearby town – Huntley, I think – and accidentally dug into an older grave. Well you’d have thought the ground was cursed, the way bugs came pouring up and out of the earth like that. Bugs of every stripe – carrion beetles, flesh eaters, scorpions, and let me tell you I’ve never seen a scorpion in Minnesota never mind in February –”

“Are you sure that’s not witchcraft?” he challenged. “Because that’s a whole different kettle of fish.”

“Gravedigger called the local priest. Ain’t but forty Catholics in town unless it’s growing season, but you’d better believe that anything funny happens in Blue Earth it’s Rome they’re running to.” He snorted. “Fortunately for everyone involved the priest’s a hunter. Guy’s name is Jim Murphy.”

“Pastor Jim!” Dean grinned, memory washing over him. “We used to stay with him all the time. Sammy loved him.” He glanced away. “Well, he might not be too happy to see me.”

“I didn’t tell him I was bringing you in on it,” he admitted. “We’ll be staying at the motel in town. I guess he’s got a nephew living with him, got into some trouble back in Boston or something like that. I don’t know. But your old room is taken, so we’ll stay in the motel and that’s fine. I guess he and your daddy had some kind of major falling-out.”

“They never spoke after Sammy died,” Dean admitted softly. “He might have loved Sammy as much as Sammy loved him. And that would have been hard,” he added quickly.

“I don’t know if he’s heard about… about John’s passing. But we can tell him in person. Anyhow, he saw the grave in question and noticed the sulfur. He gave the ground a blessing and consecrated it so that particular hole in the dirt isn’t going to cause anyone any more problems, but I still think we should get on that. I don’t think it can be coincidence that demon signs start cropping up in a town your daddy used to frequent as soon as your daddy passes, you know?”

Dean looked away. “Probably not. Of course, I’m not entirely sure what to do about it if we do find the damn demon. I can exorcise it back to Hell but I mean it will just pop right back out again, you know?”

“We’ll figure it out, boy. Come on. Don’t get too down. What was it your daddy told you when he… when he was passing?”

Dean had always hated that terminology. His father was a hero, a great man, not a kidney stone. Still, it had probably been hard for Bobby to cope with John’s loss too. After all, he’d lost a powerful ally. Now he was stuck with just Dean. “He said that I needed to make sure that the demon paid for what he did to our family.”

“That’s right, boy. And let me tell you – I know demons. I know a lot about demons. But you know who started me on the path? Jim Murphy. And I still call him when I’ve got questions.”

They finished their breakfasts companionably, packed up the things they thought they would need and headed out in the Impala. Dean had to admit that it was nice to have a passenger. Dad had given him the car for his eighteenth birthday and told him not to “crap it up,” but it hadn’t ever felt complete. It was the only home he could remember since the fire, and even as a young boy he’d assumed that he would inherit the steel horse, but somehow he’d always imagined that there would be someone at his side. The plan, he knew, had been for Sammy to sit in the shotgun position, a faithful sidekick and loyal companion. That could never happen now, but at least he had Bobby. Yoda instead of R2D2.

They rolled into Blue Earth just in time to check into the motel. They considered taking a single room – it was more strategically sound to share, and it let them conserve their precious cash resources. At the same time, they were both unattached men and there might well be times that they might want to have a room to themselves. Well, Dean was fairly certain that he was going to want to have the room to himself a few times. What Bobby Singer did in his free time Dean didn’t want to know.

After check-in they explored the town, getting their bearings. As a town, Blue Earth didn’t have much to offer. It was basically a rural town like thousands more across the country. It had the same amenities that others offered, the same vaguely-agricultural smell that permeated so many similar places. He supposed that now was the time for fertilizing fields, that was a thing people did, right? He should know these things if he wanted to fit in around here or pretend that he did.

“The place is at the confluence of two branches of a river,” Bobby pointed out. “What does that say to you?”

“Well, it tells me that it’s a good thing the local priest is a hunter,” Dean replied quickly, leaning on the split-rail fence separating a gazebo on the town green – an actual gazebo, no joke – from said river. “But that’s only for ghosts, right?”

“No, Dean. If rivers can conduct spiritual energy, then anything that resides in the world of the spirit can make use of it. So – ghosts, poltergeists, demons. It makes sense that a demon might come here. It doesn’t mean that it’s definitely our guy, but we sure can’t rule out a demon.”

“So. You want to go and visit with your priest? We can see what we can get squared away and see where the day takes us.” Dean grinned, watching as a woman in a short skirt walked past them.

“Easy there tiger. She can’t be more than sixteen. Did you see her backpack?”

“She could just be studious.” He licked his lips as the girl glanced back at him, a little nervously. “I guess school must just be letting out.”

“Do not get yourself arrested, Dean. I will not be bailing your sorry ass out of jail. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir. Crystal.” Dean grinned slowly.

“But maybe splitting up for a little while isn’t the worst idea. I can talk to some of the older folks and you can get a feel for what’s going on with some of the younger folks without an old fart like me hanging around. I’ll give you a call when it’s time to regroup.” Bobby gave him a measuring look. “Don’t go playing heroic, boy. If you see something suspicious, you call me.”

“Of course, Bobby. I’d never think of doing anything else.” He gave his most innocent, angelic smile and scampered off.

The long Minnesota winter had clearly loosened its grip on Blue Earth, and while temperatures in the mid-fifties didn’t seem terribly warm to Dean it was clear that people were starting to unpack their summer wardrobes. So many of the girls wandered by in filmy little dresses and short skirts; maybe Easter, which had only passed a few days before, had been some kind of signal for them, he didn’t know. He tried to be inconspicuous without being creepy about it – just hanging out reading on the park bench as the girls passed by, trying to get a sense of what was going on. God, had high school only been six years ago? He’d dropped out as soon as he could legally do so. Neither he nor his father wanted him to waste one minute more on British Literature and Calculus II when he had more important things to be doing.

“Oh my God, Megan, did you hear?” one girl asked another as they approached the bench. Dean didn’t look up, he was too professional for that, but her excited tone and the way she clutched at her blonde companion made whatever her piece of gossip might contain sound significant to say the least. “Did you hear what Travis said to Clay?”

Dean fought back a snort. He could practically fill in the blank spaces where Travis and Clay’s faces should be; cleft chins all around, with blond hair and blue eyes and nice square jaws. Maybe teeth that gleamed just so when the sun hit them.

“No, what happened?” Megan replied. “I was talking to Sam Murphy; I wasn’t paying attention to much else.”

That would be the priest’s nephew, then. He gave Megan another glance. She was pretty enough, he supposed. He wouldn’t say no.

“Well, yeah,” the first girl agreed. “I can see that. I mean, Murphy can be pretty distracting. He tutored me in Latin last semester. It’s amazing that I remembered enough to pass the test.” They paused a little past the bench, just enough that it was clear that Dean wasn’t part of the conversation. He remembered that much from high school, at least.

“How did you manage that?” Megan wanted to know. “I mean… those hands. That mouth. Those – those eyes.” Her eyes glazed over for a moment.

“We worked out a system,” the tutee informed. “I got one kiss for every A on a quiz.”

Megan paused. “What did he do for a midterm or the final?” The first girl blushed. “Oh my God, Nell, you didn’t!”

Nell shrugged. “What? It’s what I wanted. All my idea, I promise.” She smiled deliciously. “Trust me, you’ve got a chance with him and you absolutely will not be disappointed.”

Megan looked exasperated. “So what exactly was it that you had wanted to tell me?”

“Oh – right!” Nell shook her head to clear it. “I guess that Travis got mad that Clay took his pen or something. Started talking about how he was going to break every bone in Clay’s body, even bones Clay didn’t know he had yet.”

Megan blinked. “Wait – this was Travis? Travis, Mr. I’m-going-to-play-golf-so-I-don’t-have-to-hurt-anyone Travis?”

“The very same.” Nell’s full lips twisted into a smirk. “I know, it seems weird right? He’s not even all that into the whole… he’s never been all that into stuff. He’s got like sixty pens stuffed into that book bag of his. It’s almost like he was looking for an…”

“For an excuse,” Megan finished, biting one red lip. Christ, Dean needed to stop looking at the lips on these jailbait girls. “Are they going to fight?”

“Of course they are.” The brunette gave a snort that was anything but ladylike. “And you know where they’re going to do it, too.”

“We should go.” Megan didn’t bite her fingernails. She went straight to chewing on her knuckles. “This just… It’s so unlike Travis. Do you think it’s drugs?”

Dean held back a snort. Yeah, it might be drugs, if you counted black smoke and oily eyes as drugs. He let the girls get a ways ahead, far enough that unless they were exceptionally paranoid they wouldn’t realize that he was following them. They might know where the boys were going to have their macho fight, but Dean didn’t. And if Travis wanted to get free from a lifetime as some demon’s motorcycle, he needed to figure it out.

He couldn’t help but repress a snicker about the Murphy kid. If that girl Nell was telling the truth it wasn’t hard to figure out what kind of trouble Pastor Jim’s nephew had gotten up to in Boston. He wondered if the padre knew. The guy wasn’t some kind of cloistered monk – he was a hunter, or had been, but he also took his vows seriously and he had always given Dad those stern glares whenever his eye had wandered. Maybe this nephew was his particular cross to bear. Or maybe the boy was a perfect little saint or altar boy when he was around his uncle, who knew?

He followed the girls to another park, maybe a larger one, Dean couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. This park was different from the other: it had a massive statue, one that stood taller than the budding trees nearby, of the Jolly Green Giant. For a moment all Dean could do was gape. He’d come to Blue Earth fairly regularly as a child, but he’d never seen this. He couldn’t help but feel cheated somehow. Maybe Pastor Jim felt that it smacked of idolatry. Or maybe his father had felt that it was too frivolous, took too much attention away from the hunt. Maybe if the statue had become possessed he’d have taken an interest. Heh.

Apparently the two boys were going to fight it out in front of the statue, because there was a cluster of high-school age kids gathered in a vaguely-ovoid shape around it. He milled around the fringes of the crowd, trying to blend in as best as he could. It wasn’t easy. He’d never really fit in even when he’d bothered with high school; listening to these… these children complain about petty crap like who liked who and someone stepping out on someone else when he’d spent the previous night stitching up his father’s gut with dental floss and a sewing needle because “no hospitals – draws attention, Dean” just made it impossible to take those people seriously. Still, he could fake it long enough to mingle. He could do it for a little while, at least.

After another couple of minutes a few new players came onto the scene. The first to arrive strode up like he owned the joint. He was about average height, with preppy clothes, blond short hair and the square jaw Dean had predicted. He strode right up in the center of four equally preppy-looking guys in penny loafers – penny loafers! Who the hell showed up to a fight in loafers, for crying out loud? What was this guy going to do to him – kick his shoe at his enemy and hope that it hit him in the eye? The guys with him looked pale, seemed to be trying to keep their distance from the guy they were escorting. They looked nervous. This had to be Travis, the either unhinged or drugged or possessed.

As Travis took up a position at the base of the statue, to much murmuring, another figure slunk into the back of the crowd. This one was tall, taller than Dean even, but skinny – he hadn’t grown into his height yet. Hell, he might still be growing. It didn’t seem to matter – he moved with an easy grace that matched the vulpine cast to his features. His shaggy hair hung into his face, but Dean could see that his kaleidoscope eyes were set at an odd kind of angle. He didn’t dress to stand out at all, but more than a few people’s eyes were drawn to him. He picked his head up when his eyes lit on Travis and his nose wrinkled, like he’d caught a bad smell.

Dean had never reacted so strongly to a man before. Dean – Dean was straight. He’d never even looked at a man before now, except to give a description. But now he found himself looking at this beautiful, lanky, lean boy before him and he couldn’t help but want. He wanted this beautiful boy in ways that he’d never wanted a girl before. Sure he liked girls. He’d gone with girls, he enjoyed them. But he’d never… he’d never wanted wanted like this. He looked at this boy’s mouth, with its pink lips and the pretty pink tongue that peeped out just before he answered a question from one of the people nearby, and he wanted to cover that thing with his own. He wanted to taste everything, to claim it for himself. He wanted to feel those huge hands, with their long, tapering fingers, on every inch of his body. It was wrong – the kid was still in high school, although maybe he was a senior? God, Dean shouldn’t even be looking. He was straight. The kid probably was too, judging from the number of girls flocking to him.

Someone next to him cleared his throat. “Not from around here, are you?” the guy asked. He looked a little older, maybe a year or so younger than Dean, with a bit of a beard and a leather jacket.

Dean tensed but forced himself to give an easy grin. “That easy to tell?”

“Most people react like that the first time they see Sam Murphy,” Jacket Guy grinned. “He’s a force of nature, ain’t he? Lives with the priest over to St. Joseph’s; I guess he’s the guy’s nephew.”

Christ. No wonder Nell had been so distracted. “Tall, ain’t he?”

“Oh yeah. He’s not hard on the eyes, either. I can introduce him, if you’d like.” Dark eyes sparkled. “The name’s Dave, by the way. I graduated here about two years ago.”

“So you know him?”

“Yeah. I know him. Knew him, I should say. We fell out of touch. But – these things happen, I guess.”

Dean shook the guy’s hand. “Dean. Nice to meet you.” He gestured around. “Seems like there’s a lot going on?”

“Oh. Yeah. Big fight. I’m surprised. Travis was always more of a talker than a fighter, but I guess that everyone’s got a breaking point.”

“And this other kid, Clay? Does he push Travis around a lot?”

“No, not at all. My sister thought that they had a thing going on for a while, the two of them.” He shrugged. “Guess it’s over now.”

“Seriously? That open in high school around here?”

Dave side-eyed him. “Is that a problem for you?”

“What? No, no. I’m just surprised. It’s a pretty religious community, and even where I come from that wouldn’t be so… you know… people wouldn’t be comfortable being out in high school.” Dean shrugged. He didn’t care what people did, and apparently he found dudes attractive now so he didn’t have a lot of ground to stand on anyway. Dad would have muttered darkly, but he wouldn’t have meant it. Dad at the end of the day didn’t care what someone did in their own homes, as long as they weren’t hunting with John.

Dave relaxed again, and Dean put two and two together. “Yeah, well, maybe ten years ago but times have moved on, you know? We’re rural, not stuck in 1891. The school is especially, uh, open. You know, since Murphy.”

Dean raised his eyes. “Murphy’s gay?”

“Murphy’s not picky. All he cares about is that you’re interested in him, man.” Dave smiled, maybe a little sadly.

Dean’s body reacted strongly to that thought – the possibility that the Murphy kid would touch him, would let Dean put his hands on him. It wasn’t right. It was all kinds of inappropriate and he wanted it more than oxygen. “Seriously?” How did his voice manage to come out sounding so normal?

“Oh sure.” Dave’s eyes flicked to the other side of the field. “Hey, look. Here comes Clay.”

And indeed, here came the high school kid known as Clay. Clay was taller than Travis, with a trendier haircut. If pressed, Dean would have had to describe him as the better looking of the pair despite the occasional zit here and there near the hairline. He approached with only a couple of guys, but the guys stood closer to him and they were burlier. “Clay is on the football team,” he explained. “He should mop the floor with Travis.”

“You think?” Dean snorted. Under normal circumstances sure, he’d eat the guy for lunch. Travis, though, Travis looked like he was chomping at the bit. He looked like his skin was ready to split from all of the anger contained inside of him. And that wasn’t normal, that wasn’t right. He risked a glance at Murphy, who was being raised by a hunter or an ex-hunter at least. The kid was staring right at Travis.

The crowd parted to allow Clay access to the space in front of the statue. It seemed to be an established procedure here for these people, a kind of pre-combat ritual before the Jolly Green Giant, the commercial colossus. The athlete strode forward and his seconds peeled off. “Travis,” Clay greeted. It was hard to tell what was in his voice. Dean could hear anger, but he could hear something else there. Was it concern? Grief?

“You actually had the balls to show up,” Travis said with a surprised, mocking little laugh. He stepped forward. “I can’t believe it. I guess next season doesn’t mean that much to you.”

“We don’t need to fight, Travis,” Clay pointed out. There was no real fear there. “It was a fucking pen. I take your pens all the time. All. The. Time.” Travis went from relaxed to infuriated in the blink of an eye. “And I’m sick of it!” he bellowed, face red. “It ends now! It ends forever!” One corner of Clay’s mouth quirked up, but the gesture was more sad than anything else. He shrugged off his jacket – a letter jacket, an honest-to-god letter jacket like Dean had seen on television – and passed it to the guy on his right. “All right,” he sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dean snuck a glance at Murphy. The kid wasn’t where he had been. The hunter scanned the crowd and noticed that the boy had slunk forward, moving toward the front of the crowd. Crap – what the hell did he think he was doing? If the kid were possessed he’d kill Murphy just as easily as he would this Clay kid.

The sky, which had been clear and blue, began to cloud over.

“Oh, we’ll get it over with,” Travis growled. His eyes flashed black.

Crap. An actual demon was about to go toe to toe with a high school kid and there was nothing between him and certain death but one hunter who’d never memorized an exorcism in his life. He’d always had Dad – or a book. He had neither right now. And there were dozens of high school kids gathered around to watch. Dozens, to include Bobby’s friend’s nephew or whatever. He fumbled for his phone, flipping it open and hitting speed dial two.

Bobby picked it up just as the wind started to rise. “Yeah, boy?”

“Bobby, hey.” He stepped away from the crowd a little, Dave giving him a curious look but not really paying much attention. “That thing you were looking for? It’s here. Yeah, funny thing. Right by the Jolly Green Giant.”

“’That thing?’ Could you be a little more cryptic, Dean? I’m behind on my brain exercises. Unless there’s a crowd and you can’t speak freely.”

He closed his eyes. Thank God – or whoever – for Bobby and his ability to think on his pedicured feet. “Yeah. Funny thing, could’ve tripped right over it. Oh, and your buddy that you mentioned? Yeah, his kid’s here too.”

“Balls,” Bobby swore. “I’m over here at St. Joseph’s. I don’t think that we could get there before half an hour, honestly.”

Dean glanced at the scene. Murphy had almost made it up to the front of the crowd. Clay and Travis were circling each other like a couple of prizefighters, neither one willing to make the first move quite yet. Travis’ moves weren’t quite right – there was a stiffness to him. The possession was recent, he guessed. Not that Dean was any kind of expert, no, but if the thing had the time to get used to its new meatsuit it would have moved with more fluidity. “I don’t know if there’s time,” Dean confessed in a whisper.

“There’s gonna have to be, boy,” Bobby told him. “You’ll figure it out.”

“See ya, Bobby.” Dean hung up and hoped he wasn’t lying.

Travis took the first swing, a rictus of a grin on his face. He made an uppercut to Clay’s chest that turned the boy pale and left him gasping for air. “Holy fuck,” Dave gasped as Clay coughed blood. Another blow caught the athlete on his other side. Clay didn’t try to defend against it, just flopped down like a rag doll.

Dean raced to the front of the crowd. Most of the kids glanced at each other, afraid; a few were already starting to drift away. They’d showed up for a fight, not a slaughter. “Get going,” Dean urged them. “You don’t want to be here when the cops do.”

Travis sneered at him as he caught Clay’s body. “Well well well,” he growled. “If it isn’t Winchester, triple-A version.”

All of the teens were running now – all but Murphy. Murphy stepped right up to the front. “Get lost, kid,” Dean snarled. “This is beyond bad news.”

The kid narrowed his eyes in a glare and pursed his lips, but he didn’t say anything to Dean. “Get out of him,” he ordered simply. He spoke to Travis.

Like that was going to do anything. The demon laughed. “Why would I possibly do that?” He waved a hand and Dean went flying backwards, smashing against a tree. That never felt good, it wasn’t something anyone ever got used to no matter how often it happened.

“Alright, you son of a bitch, you asked for it. Excorciamuste, diabolis…” He found himself trailing off, unable to remember the words to the exorcism.

Murphy stepped inside, letting Clay fall to the muddy ground in a heap. Travis scowled and raised his hands, focusing something at the kid. Dean could see that he was doing something, the dead grass moved and took some twigs with it, but the kid’s hair didn’t so much as twitch. Instead Murphy reached out and put his hands on the smaller boy’s biceps and grabbed – hard. His back was to Dean, so the hunter couldn’t quite tell what was happening, but he could see the look of terror on the demon’s stolen face just before the black smoke was forced from his mouth in a long, vile stream.

Instead of disbursing into the atmosphere, the demonic essence was forced into the ground just as it would have been if the demon had been exorcised inside a devil’s trap. The thing had been sent back to Hell. Travis, demon-free, collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Murphy turned around to look at Dean.

“What the hell did you just do?” the hunter demanded with a deep inhale.

“Exorcism,” the kid retorted. “Of a demon. Not an anchovy, which I’m pretty sure is what you were going for. Look. I’ll stay with Clay, the locals know me. You must have a car around here, right?” Dean nodded. “Travis will have questions – he’s going to need help. Can you get him back to my uncle’s place? St. Joseph’s Parish. It’s not hard to find, there are signs around and everything.”

“No problem.” Dean could hear the sirens already. Damn but those high school kids were quick with the 911 calls these days. “I’ll see you there maybe?”

Murphy offered him a quick grin. “Probably. I do live there, after all.”

Dean picked up Travis and headed down the path back toward where he’d left his car.


	3. Part Two

Dean didn’t need to be told twice to hightail it out of the vicinity – a stranger to town making off with a guy who had been seen beating a star football player close to death didn’t look good from anyone’s perspective, and sure maybe Pastor Jim could smooth it over and maybe he couldn’t, but Dean wasn’t about to put his trust in someone whose falling-out with his dad had caused a ten-year gap in their correspondence. That kind of attention wouldn’t do much for his ability to do his job either way. So he sneaked his way back to the Impala and hid Travis under some blankets in the back seat, making sure to obey all speed limits as he followed signs to the church.

As he drew closer to Pastor Jim’s place he started to notice some familiar sights. Funny how many things could change in ten years, he thought to himself. He was focused on the kid in the back, who was starting to show signs of waking up, but he still took note of some of the places. The town hadn’t gotten bigger, that was for certain. The same old Midwestern-style architecture still predominated, built to last and not replaced unless it had to be. The little mom-and-pop pharmacy next to the church had been replaced by a Walgreens, for example, but it had been housed in a building that had been there since the late nineteenth century and survived three floods. The Walgreens might have devoured the diner next door and a dumpy little furniture store besides, but they’d done it within the same building. The essential landscape of the town hadn’t changed. They’d opened up a thrift store next to the Walgreens, too – that was nice, convenient. Dad would be – he cut that thought off. It was convenient for him. That was enough.

He pulled into the rectory driveway, where Bobby helped him pull Travis from the back. “Sam called,” he informed. “From the ambulance.”

“Jeez, how did he manage to warn you all in front of the paramedics?” Dean marveled, looking from his mentor to the priest. Jim looked older – well, who wouldn’t? Ten years was a long time.

“Oh, he spoke openly in front of them,” Jim told him drily. “Just in Latin.” He grinned slightly. “Take him into the rectory and put him on the couch.”

“He speaks Latin well enough to just go off the cuff like that?” Bobby lifted his eyebrows. “That’s a little… unusual.”

“My nephew’s been studying Latin since he was… oh, three or four, I think. He showed an interest and there was no reason not to teach him, so why not? Now he dreams in Latin.” The pastor chuckled giving a little shake of his head.

Dean bit his lip. He didn’t want to get the kid in trouble if he didn’t have to. “Does he study at school?” He and Bobby followed their host into the small building and laid the groggy teenager out onto the couch.

Travis blinked. “Father Murphy?” he asked. “What – how did I get here?”

The priest passed him a cup of water that had already been waiting on the table. Dean suspected it contained holy water; it’s what he would have done. Sure it had looked like Sam had exorcised the demon from the poor kid, but it never hurt to be certain. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen demons fake it before. “Relax, Travis. Just… just tell me what you remember.”

“The last thing I remember clearly was being at home last night,” the boy told them. “I was just hanging around doing my homework. There was this thick, black smoke and then there’s just bits and pieces. I got into a fight with Clay – I mean…” He trailed off and glanced at Jim, blushing deeply. “I… I remember hitting him. Only I wasn’t in control. I tried to stop but something else was pushing it, moving my hand –” Tears started streaming down the boy’s face. “Do you know – is he…?”

“He was still alive when I spoke with my nephew,” the priest confirmed. “Sam couldn’t give me any idea of his condition but he was still alive at the time.” He urged the water onto the boy, holding his hand.

Travis gulped at the water. All three of the men attending on him watched closely, but nothing happened. Dean let out a slow breath, hoping neither of the others noticed.

“Son, you were possessed by a demon,” Bobby explained. Dean hadn’t ever heard him use such a gentle voice, not even when Dad had died. “I know that’s… that’s a lot to take in.”

“A demon?” Travis’ chin wavered, but after a single shuddering breath he pulled himself together. “It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever felt. It was like being hollowed out – like a jack-o-lantern. It was my body, but I couldn’t… I was being used, and it didn’t matter how hard I fought or how loud I screamed. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t. I tried.”

“How did you finally get rid of it?” Bobby wanted to know.

“You don’t think I could have exorcised it?” Dean smirked.

“Boy, you need to look at the book and half the time you still mispronounce the Latin,” his mentor huffed.

“No. The thing inside me – he thought you were kind of funny. He remembered your father. But no – it was the other one. The demon was afraid of your nephew, Father. He was afraid of Sam.” Travis swallowed more water, looking up into the priest’s eyes. “I don’t know how to explain it except to say that he was afraid.”

“I guess your nephew got the exorcism right, then,” Dean quipped.

“He usually does.” Jim smiled with quiet pride, although he didn’t look directly at anyone. “You have no idea how saddened I was that he didn’t have a priestly vocation. He’s quite the exorcist.”

“It was like the… the thing was just pulled right out of my body,” Travis reported. His face had gone pale, and he had sweated right through his clothes. “I mean, I could feel the tugging. It didn’t feel great, but I kind of figured out what was going on and shoved.”

“Smart move,” Bobby commented. “You probably helped to save your own life.”

“Well, maybe. But… I mean, what happens next, sir? I mean, the whole town saw what they thought was me try to kill my boyfriend.”

Jim sighed. “It’s awkward. I don’t know if you’ll be able to salvage things with Clay, to be honest. It depends on how much of the truth he can make himself believe. You pretty much have two options at this point. You can run. Your life will be more or less over, but these gentlemen here can help you set up a false identity. They can teach you a little bit about how to keep yourself safe from that kind of thing ever happening again.

“Or,” the priest continued, “you can stay. After a couple of hours I can call the police and tell them that you came to me and I can coach you through what to say and when to say it. Parts of your life here will change. The way that people view you here will change. But you’ll still be here. These gentlemen will still help me to help you protect yourself. And everyone will move on.”

Travis drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t suppose we can wait and see what happens with Clay?”

Jim smiled gently. “Of course. I’m sure you’re worried sick about him.” He grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the sofa and covered the teen with it. “Come on, boys. Let’s let him have some privacy.”

Dean took his cue and headed into the kitchen. This, at least, hadn’t changed. Everything was still humble, still simple. A crucifix still hung on the wall, although a report card had been tacked onto the refrigerator too. Apparently Sam Murphy got straight A’s. Of course you do, Dean thought meanly.

“Dean,” Jim told him. “Bobby told me about your father. I’m very sorry for your loss.” He indicated the chairs, Dean’s seat at the table like he was still eight years old.

“Thanks, sir. Truth be told I didn’t know if I should make myself scarce. I know you and Dad had a bit of a falling out,” Dean admitted. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“Oh, Dean. Believe me, there never was anything that I wouldn’t do for you boys. And there never will be anything I wouldn’t do for you,” the priest declared, putting a hand on his. “What happened between your father and me was between your father and me. It’s nothing to do with you and you should never have suffered for it.”

“That means a lot to me, sir.” He could feel himself tearing up. When John had died he’d felt like his world had narrowed down to one person and now it had opened up again. He didn’t have his blood kin anymore, but all of these connections that John had squandered were coming back. “I, uh… I mean, thanks.”

“I’m sorry that you have to work a demon case again so soon,” Jim told him. “I’m just glad we were able to wrap it up so quickly.”

“I’m not so sure that we did,” Bobby demurred. “It sounds to me like the demon your boy exorcised from Travis here was kind of small potatoes to be the same demon we’ve been chasing, am I right?”

Dean bit back a curse. “Those were some pretty significant demon signs,” he admitted. “And you said Sam’s an experienced exorcist. That means he gets lots of practice. Probably on guys like the one in Travis.”

Jim sat back and sighed. “Are you suggesting that there’s a larger demon here? Or trying to get here?”

“It’s possible. I showed you my research, padre,” Bobby pointed out. “And the demon that possessed John Winchester…”

Dean flinched. “Can we not?”

“Sorry, son, but I think we have to,” his mentor told him. “It’s clearly relevant. The demon that possessed him passed on some information. Said that little Sammy was the key, out of all of the Winchesters.”

Jim paled. “Sammy Winchester died more than ten years ago, Bobby. You know this. He can’t be the key to anything demonic. He’s dead. John burned him and I helped.”

“I know, Jim,” Bobby soothed, putting a hand between the priest’s tense shoulder blades. “I know. But hear me out, okay? What if whatever the demon had planned, back in the day when it killed Mary Winchester, needed the blood of a Winchester child? They do this kind of crap all the time, you know they do. Sammy’s gone, but they’ve still got Dean-o.”

“No.” Jim shook his head. “What would they need with a child of John and Mary?”

“I don’t know. Someone as stubborn as two mules put together?” Bobby glared at Dean, but with affection.

“Right here, guys.” Dean squirmed. “Come on. Let’s take this seriously, can we? I mean, you’re right. It does seem like there’s… something significant coming through and the thing that had Travis was minor. Not to Travis, of course – his life is ruined either way. But it was minor.”

The rectory phone rang, and Dean couldn’t help it. He jumped. Jim answered it, as was only right. “St. Joseph’s – oh, hi, Sam. Yes, they’re here. Fabulous, I’ll come get – oh. I see. Well, I’ll see you soon then.” He hung up the phone. “Sam is on his way home. Clay’s parents are at the hospital so they don’t need Sam to wait for him.”

“How’s he getting here?” Bobby wanted to know.

“An Officer Clark is giving him a lift.” He sighed and shook his head.

“Bit of a handful, is he?” Bobby asked sagely.

“For the most part, no. Sam is as good of a child as a man could expect – especially a man like me who never expected a child in the first place. But his family, his biological family, abandoned him and he’s never really gotten over that. I wish I could help him with that, but I suppose an old priest can’t be everything to a growing boy.” He sighed.

“You’re hardly old, Pastor Jim,” Dean offered.

“Aren’t you sweet. Anyway, the boy should be home soon. Although it sounds like you’ve already met.”

Sam Murphy pulled up to the door not ten minutes later, sitting in the front seat of a police cruiser with a very young-looking cop. The cop was laughing and Sam had a shy smile on his young face. Dean fought a surge of jealousy. It wasn’t like he had the right to be jealous – he and the kid had barely exchanged a few words, after all. And oh yeah – the kid was a kid, underage. He had no right to even look at the boy. Of course, neither did the cop, and there was no way his motivations were pure. Not with the way his eyes kept falling to the boy’s lips… Dean caught himself and shook his head. Not only had he never been into guys, but he’d never been jealous either. Maybe the demonic influence on this town was deeper than he’d thought.

He’d changed his clothes, Dean realized as Murphy strode up the walk to the rectory door. He wore a police tee shirt that was a little too small for him, emphasizing his upper chest, and some sweats that had been dug up from somewhere. Pastor Jim raised an eyebrow. “Where are your clothes, Sam?”

“Medical waste,” the exorcist admitted. “They were –” He cut himself off when he saw that Travis was awake on the couch. “The clothes weren’t salvageable. Clay is in surgery. The scans were scary, I’ll admit it. The demon did a number on him. But they were very hopeful, Travis. They have every reason to think that he’ll make a decent recovery.”

The golfer burst into tears and Sam quickly took a seat beside him, taking his hand and pulling him in so he could sob on his solid chest. “Does it help to know that you’re not the only one this has happened to, Travis?” Sam asked him after a moment.

“But why me?” the kid asked plaintively. “Is it something that I did – something I did to make myself attractive to it?”

“No. There’s no rhyme or reason to who they attack. They’ve taken priests, they’ve taken druggies. They’ve possessed little kids too young to know right from wrong. It’s usually a convenience thing.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing you did, Travis. But you can take some steps to make it less likely that they can get in again. Nothing is foolproof, okay?”

Bobby stepped forward with a charm on a string and took over the discussion, explaining about devil’s traps and exorcisms. “And you know about all of this why?” Travis asked, stunned by the amount of information flowing at him. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that you do. But… why?”

“My mom was killed by a demon. My little brother too. My father dedicated both of our lives to hunting down the thing that got them, but it got him in the end,” Dean explained.

“A demon possessed my wife, Karen,” Bobby told him. “She didn’t survive.”

Pastor Jim smiled gently. “The Church sees fit to keep some of Her servants trained in handling Hell’s servants. I happen to be one of them; otherwise I suspect the diocese would have closed down St. Joseph’s years ago. Sam here has spent his entire life as an exorcist; it isn’t as if I could hide it from him.”

The teen gave his uncle a huge smile. “I wouldn’t want you to,” he said. “But look – there are others out there who fight evil. It’s not like these guys are the only ones, okay?”

“Why don’t you go get yourself something to eat, Sam,” Jim suggested. “You and Dean can get a snack, maybe get some groceries or something. Us old farts can hang out with Travis and keep the home fires burning.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He could behave himself around Sam. He could.

Sam grinned. “Give me a minute. They didn’t exactly have spare sweats in my size down at the PD.” He glided up the stairs.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “You been training that boy as a hunter, Jim?”

“Never hurts to be prepared, Bobby. They’ll be coming for him eventually, why shouldn’t he be ready for them when they get here? Besides, he can’t hide out here forever.” He sighed, looking impossibly old for a moment.

Sam reappeared after a moment, clad in more modest clothing. Dean wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

Dean was, so Sam led the way into the town center. A few people waved or nodded at the young man as they made their way down the sidewalk; clearly the tall young man was as much a fixture around here as the Jolly Green Giant statue. “So what’s your deal, then?” Sam asked. “You just wander the country, looking for demons?”

“Among other things,” Dean told him. “I mean, I’m looking for one thing in particular but if I find something else I have to take it out, you know?”

“Anything at all?”

“Well sure. I mean, if it’s supernatural it has to go, right?” He blinked. The kid had to know that already, if Pastor Jim was training him as a hunter. “So you just live with Pastor Jim and do what – exorcise demons after school?”

Sam gave a little laugh. It might have sounded a little forced, but that could have been Dean just being paranoid. “Uh, pretty much. It’s kind of what I do, I guess. For now.”

“For now?”

“I’m heading off to Stanford in the fall.”

“Stanford? That’s… I mean, college, man. Hunters don’t go to college.”

Sam turned those dimples on him and no human could have resisted them. No human at all. “Good thing I’m not a hunter then, isn’t it?” His tone was gentle, teasing.

“’Course you are,” Dean retorted. “Look at you. Exorcising demons without batting an eye, the way you move – you could hunt like it was in your blood, Sam. Think of all the people you could save. College would be a complete waste for you.”

He huffed. “Mmm-hmm. And you think that I’d be happy never having a home, never being in the same place for more than two days at a time.”

“People need your skills, Sam.”

“And they’ll need them just as much at Stanford.” He grinned again.

Dean groaned. “Those dimples should be registered as lethal weapons, man.”

The younger boy’s grin shifted, became a little more predatory. “Oh yeah?”

“Sure.” Dean licked his lips, remembered himself. The kid was underage, the ward of someone he had to work with. “Sounds like you’re a popular tutor, anyway. I overheard a couple of the girls talking about some, uh, creative rewards you came up with to encourage someone named Nell with her Latin.”

To his credit the boy blushed a little, although he seemed at least as amused by the gossip as he was embarrassed by it. “Aw, I can’t take credit for that. It was all Nell’s plan; I just went along with it.”

“You were just being a good tutor, giving her whatever would help her out,” Dean grinned.

“Whatever brought her grades up, man. She’s plenty bright; she doesn’t deserve to lose out on scholarships or get held back from going to her choice of colleges because of a lower grade in Latin, you know?”

“And you’d have done the same if she’d been ugly. Or a dude.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

“And how long did you date Miss Nell after she was done with Latin?”

“Aw, little Sammy’s playmates don’t tend to stick around.” The voice was a weird combination of harsh and silken, attached to a woman. The woman hadn’t been there a moment ago and there was no alley, no shadowed storefront for her to have jumped out from. “Once they’ve gotten what they want out of our golden boy here they like their distance. Don’t they, little brother?” The woman wasn’t tall, only about five foot four, with short blonde hair and prominent cheekbones. Her eyes were the biggest clue about her identity; they gleamed, inky and black, in her heart-shaped face.

Sam’s entire demeanor changed. “Meg,” he snarled, thrusting Dean behind him with a strength he didn’t look like he should have. “We sent you back to the Pit months ago.”

She snickered. “That’s the thing, Sammy-boy. When you send us to Hell we just climb back out, and then we’re pissed. Plus, we’ve usually learned some fun new tricks while we’re at it.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw set. “You’re not the only one who’s learned some new tricks, Meg.”

“Mmm. But are you going to use them in front of pretty boy here? Out here in the open? I mean, you’ve got something to lose here. You still think you get to live here, in this town, Mr. All-American Boy. I mean really, Sam.” She snorted and flipped her hand at the storefronts around her. The windows exploded into thousands of little knives. Dean brought his arm up to protect his eyes. “Don’t you get tired of faking it?”

“I’m not faking anything.” None of the shards had even come close to Sam. It seemed improbable, especially given the perfect circle of glass-free space around both him and Dean, but here they were. “But I’m not going to let you hurt these people. Any of them.”

She smiled. The host was pretty but that smile was probably the single nastiest thing that Dean had ever seen on a human face, stolen or not. “Especially not pretty boy here,” she surmised. Dean felt dirty just hearing that come out of her mouth. “I see how it is. Dad’s not going to wait forever, Sammy.”

“Not my father,” the boy gritted out, and began the words to the exorcism.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she sneered, and then she was gone again.

“Run,” Sam told Dean.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Sam’s hand, though, and dragged him along behind him.

Back at the rectory Jim and Bobby were very interested to hear about the encounter, although for very different reasons. Jim looked somber, even a bit worried. Bobby was concerned. “Are you telling me that your father is a demon, boy?” he asked Sam, standing up and moving closer to him.

“His father is not a demon,” the priest injected with a scowl, coming to stand between Bobby and Sam. “He’s a piss-poor excuse for a father, but he’s not a demon. It’s something that the other side’s been trying to tell him for a while now.”

“And why would they be saying that, now?” Dean’s mentor wanted to know. His eyes narrowed over his beard, giving him an almost inquisitorial appearance. “Why would that even pop into their black-eyed little heads if there weren’t a grain of truth to it?”

“Do you have any idea how many of them he’s sent back to Hell?” The priest’s face was ablaze with indignation. “They’re trying to rattle him, Bobby. And they’re trying to get hunters to view him with suspicion, which I’d say is working.”

“She called him ‘little brother,’” Dean sighed. “That implies a lot more than just the usual demon bitch screwing around with a guy, you know?”

Sam turned those eyes on him, stunning and vulnerable and impossible to deny. Dean had to look away as the teen said, “She’s not my goddamn sister – sorry, Uncle Jim. She’s not my sister. I never had a sister. Never, even before.”

“So you remember your family,” Bobby prodded, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sure I do. Not a lot. Bits and pieces. And I know they weren’t demons.” His mouth twisted on the word. “They were humans. Normal humans. I had a father and a brother.”

“Where are they now?” Bobby pressed.

“Who knows? Who cares? They dumped me in a church and never looked back.” Sam’s eyes blazed. “But I never had a sister. If you want to kill me on some demon’s word – if you think the word of a creature that steals humans’ bodies from them is worth more than mine, someone who’s been exorcising demons since before he needed to shave – then go ahead and do it. Just get it the hell over with and stop your posturing.”

Bobby blinked. “No one’s talking about killing you, Sam.”

“Bullshit.” Sam shouldered his way past the older men and headed up to his room.

The remaining men exchanged glances. “I really hope Travis didn’t hear any of that,” Jim said with a glower before leaving the kitchen.

Bobby glanced at Dean. “It sounds like this is getting big, boy.”

“That ain’t the half of it,” he said. “I’ll wait for Pastor Jim before I fill you in on the rest, but it doesn’t sound like this is going to be just a case of random possessions. I’ve met some demons, Bobby, but Meg made them all seem like housecats in comparison.”

“Housecats’ve never liked you either, Dean,” he pointed out wryly.

“Look, I don’t know, but maybe we should call in even more backup.”

“Maybe. Unfortunately there ain’t no one better than us when it comes to demons – no one who knows them better than we do.”

Jim padded back into the room, the smallest of them all but no less terrifying from the look on his face. “Fortunately the poor boy was asleep. What the hell were you thinking, Singer? Sam is an innocent. It’s not bad enough that his family abandoned him, now he’s got hunters showing up and making him feel like he’s at fault for it? Shame on you, Robert Singer. I’d expect better of you.”

“Jim, I’m sorry. But if he’s not human we need to think about the rest of the world here!” Bobby hissed. “We need to know what he is!”

“He’s a teenager who’s coping very well with the trauma. And Sam is a who, not a ‘what,’” the priest insisted. “He’s successfully performed over fifty exorcisms and he hasn’t even turned eighteen yet. How many people have you exorcised? And how many of those people survived the process?”

“But he doesn’t want to be a hunter,” Dean pointed out, torn. “He wants to go to college.”

“Of course he does. He doesn’t want to hurt people. He only wants to help, to heal.” Jim shook his head. “I knew it was a mistake, letting hunters into my town again never mind a Winchester.”

Dean held up his hands. “Hey – I haven’t said anything about him. I just said he didn’t want to hunt.”

“You will. You’re your father’s son.” Jim closed his eyes. “Just… stay the hell away from my nephew, alright?”

“I can’t do that, Jim. If he’s got demon blood – if he’s half demon or whatever – I mean we can’t just let him run around. He’ll turn eventually.”

“So me telling you that he’s not a monster isn’t enough for you?” Jim’s eyes were mere slits in his face now. “You and I fought demons for decades, Singer. I taught you everything you know about the filthy things. And you think that I’m just… not going to know if I have one living under my roof for ten years?”

“You’re too close to him, Jim!” Bobby exploded. “He’s your kin!”

“So you have what, some kind of test to tell you? Or you’re going to go on the word of a demon over the word of someone who’s been your friend for decades?” He shook his head. “Just get out, Singer. You and your protégé.” He pointed at the door. “And as fair warning, I might not travel for hunts anymore but don’t think for a minute that I sold my guns.”

Dean grabbed Bobby’s arm and pulled him toward the exit. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. “Good to see you again, Pastor Jim,” he called, dragging Bobby toward the exit. Bobby stopped fighting him once they got to the Impala and took the shotgun position without an argument, although he glared daggers at the rectory until it was out of sight.

“Well,” Dean said brightly. “That went well.”

“Why won’t he see reason?” the older hunter asked sadly. “Why won’t he just listen?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t know, maybe because he raised that boy? I mean, you don’t even know Sam. You were pretty quick to take the demon’s word for it, you know? You ever think that maybe there was another side to things?”

Bobby glared. “Why would the demon lie?”

“Why would she tell the truth? I mean yeah. She did seem to want Sammy for something, want him to give into something, but that doesn’t mean that he’s the Son of Satan or something.” He sketched in the details of the confrontation with Meg since there was no point in waiting for Pastor Jim anymore. “There definitely didn’t seem to be any kind of brotherly feeling going on there, you get what I’m saying?”

“Demons aren’t capable of normal family relationships,” the older hunter explained. “They don’t even usually reproduce by having children. Usually when a human soul goes to Hell it gets twisted and distorted by its time in Hell until it becomes a demon. No ‘Daddy,’ no brothers, no sisters, nothing. So if this demon is calling itself Sam’s sister, it’s a pretty big deal. It would have to be a fairly powerful demon to reproduce itself like, like people do.” He sighed. “I’m actually kind of annoyed that he exorcised the one possessing Travis, now that I think about it. He could have brought it back to Jim’s place and we could have interrogated it. Think that’s why he didn’t want to bring it home?”

Dean shook his head. “Jeez, Bobby. You honestly didn’t say but three words to the kid and you’re just willing to write him off as a monster. No. I was there. He wasn’t anything but concerned for Travis – someone he’s known since they were little kids.”

Bobby slumped. “I know, boy. I know. And I… I mean, I don’t want to think he’s on the wrong side. Jim just dotes on that kid, just adores him. It’s just that I don’t want to get attached if he is… you know. I’ve had that happen once with Karen. It’s an awful feeling. And just because he’s good now doesn’t mean that he’ll be good forever. He could just as easily turn tomorrow, you know?”

“But you don’t know he’s evil. You don’t know he’s part… whatever. You don’t know he’s anything.” He smiled softly. “This is why Sammy doesn’t want to be a hunter.”

“Why are you calling him Sammy?” Bobby asked after a moment. “That’s what you used to call your brother.”

“Yeah. I guess he’d be around the same age, too. Small world, I guess. Maybe I’m compensating or something. But Bobby, we can’t condemn the kid without knowing for sure.”

“Yeah. Okay. But I want to keep an eye on him, okay? We’ll stick around and see what happens in this town.”


	4. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

Dean made a point of heading to the school the very next day. He couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to be in the building, but he could certainly keep an eye on the exterior. Bobby got a job as a janitor so he could monitor Sam Murphy indoors. Nothing stood out for the first couple of days, although Bobby made a point of putting devil’s traps under every mud mat in every entrance. It couldn’t hurt, they figured. Sam Murphy didn’t seem to notice them, or if he did they didn’t seem to bother him at all. On the contrary, once or twice Sam even seemed to be aware of the surveillance. He might have even winked at Dean as he went about his business, walking around with the occasional girl or guy or cluster of people (and really, he couldn’t be messing around with all of them, could he?)

The weekend passed. Bobby and Dean followed Jim and Sam out of town, but they lost the pair on country roads. “Jim’s good at what he does,” Bobby had to admit. “He always was.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s lost a step,” Dean had to admit.

They returned to Blue Earth to keep an eye on the town. Jim was back in time for Sunday mass. Sam showed up for services – it would probably have looked bad if he hadn’t – but he didn’t take Communion.

Bobby remarked on it from their seat in the back of the church, where Jim glared daggers at them. Dean elbowed him in the ribs. “Notice how we’re not taking Communion either?” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but we ain’t Catholic,” he retorted.

“Maybe the kid ain’t either.”

“He’s Jim’s nephew, raised in his house,” Bobby scoffed.

It wasn’t until Wednesday, when Dean had been there for a full week, that he got to speak directly to Sam again. “Enjoying the view?” Sam demanded.

Dean hadn’t even heard him approach. He jumped and turned around. “Jesus, Sam. You can’t just… sneak up on a hunter.”

“Apparently you can,” the teen replied with a smirk. “But you haven’t answered my question. I know you’ve been following me.”

“Yeah. Well, you know how it is.” He tried to put as much of an apology into his smile as he could.

“Well, no, I don’t. I’ve never stalked a teenager to try to decide if I needed to execute him before.” His expression was gentle, even if the words were harsh. “Come on. Come out of the trees, at least.”

“It’s not really like that,” Dean tried. “I mean, not exactly. It’s… it’s an abundance of caution.”

“Good to know. I’d hate to get shot just for the hell of it.” There wasn’t any bitterness to his voice, just amusement. “Come on. Let’s at least talk face to face?”

Dean could do that. A week’s non-contact hadn’t cured him of his desire for the boy, but he could probably manage to focus while talking. “Okay,” he agreed, and was rewarded by a more genuine smile.

They wandered aimlessly down one of the paths through the woods. Sam seemed to have some idea where he was going, although Dean could probably get back to the high school if he needed to. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked the taller male as they walked companionably side by side.

“That’s why we’re here,” Sam offered.

“How come you didn’t take Communion on Sunday?”

Sam smiled. “I never received the Sacraments. Not any of them. You have to get at least three of them before you can take Communion, you know.”

“But you’re a priest’s nephew, Sam. You’ve lived in his house since you were a kid.”

“That doesn’t mean my family – my bio family, I guess – were religious. Or at least that they thought I was worth bothering with. I mean, they’re the ones who abandoned me with Uncle Jim when I was just a little kid. They don’t seem to have thought I was worth baptizing and I guess Uncle Jim respected that. So.” His face darkened.

“Nah, I’m sure it wasn’t like that. I mean, my dad never had my little brother baptized either but it wasn’t because of him. After my mom was killed he just… he didn’t see a point to religious anything, you know? It wasn’t because of him; it was because religion didn’t mean anything to him anymore. I know my mom was going to get it done. We weren’t Catholic, though.”

“You have a brother?”

“Had. He, uh, he died. Same demon that got my mom came back for him. Then my dad, a few months ago.” He swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. He was such a little thing, you know? That’s what I remember most. Little things. He liked Lucky Charms. Books.” He shrugged. “Thundercats cartoons.”

Sam laughed a little. “I guess that’s what stands out after a long time passes. You know, I still remember bits and pieces of my family. I remember my dad wasn’t around much. I don’t remember my mother at all; I don’t know if she left first or what. I remember that I had a brother. He was, uh, he was always trying to get me to eat more.” He laughed a little.

“Do you remember any more? It might explain what that hell bitch wanted with you.” Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s lips, the way his little pink tongue thrust through them when he hesitated in his speech.

“Like I said, bits and pieces. When I got left here it was kind of traumatic; I guess I buried a lot of it. Uncle Jim says that’s the brain’s way of processing severe trauma.”

“Do you want to?”

“Why would I want to remember the people who gave me up for dead?” Sam replied bluntly. “I don’t want to remember them. I don’t want to know them. I don’t want them to know me. The only way that I want them to know who I am is after I’ve finished law school and built up a successful practice; they can look and see, ‘That’s Sam Murphy; that’s what he made of himself. He didn’t need us. He made a life without us.’”

“So you want your bio family to be jealous?”

“No. I mean, I guess I want them to regret getting rid of me. It’s not like I was some newborn, some unwanted pregnancy that they just couldn’t handle. I could get that, you know? No, I was six or seven or something. And they didn’t even go through legal paperwork or anything, they just… dumped me. Like trash. Like nothing.” He looked away. “It’s petty. I shouldn’t even think about them. I’ve got a good life with Uncle Jim. All the books I could want, and Blue Earth is a safe town. I don’t remember much from the time before but I remember never feeling safe.”

“So you’re better off.”

“Yeah, probably. It just bugs me, you know?” He laughed. “I can’t expect you to get it, I guess. I mean, you love your dad, and he kept you with him so I guess he loved you.”

“Yeah. Shared mission and all that.”

Sam tilted his head a little bit to the side. “So it was all… what, just demon hunting for you two?”

“It was for Dad.” It was hard to say this out loud, never mind to a complete stranger, but Sam had just confessed some pretty deep things about his own background to him. The confidence should be shared, after all. It wasn’t because Sam was so easy to talk to, not at all. “I mean, it’s literally all he cared about. Me too, really. The thing took my brother, took my mom. It destroyed everything. I want to kill it. I want to make sure that it can’t destroy another family like it did mine.” He snorted. “Look at us, trading life stories. What is this, California? That only happens in California.”

“I am going there in the fall,” Sam told him. He stopped. “You’re the one who thought it might shed some light on what Meg wanted with me. The thing is, Dean, I already know what she wants.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “You couldn’t have led with that? Because we could’ve skipped that whole chick-flick moment and gotten straight to business.”

“I don’t think demonology has ever figured into a chick flick, Dean. But sure. Meg is the daughter of the guy currently ruling Hell in Lucifer’s name, a demon by the name of Azazel.” He grimaced. “I don’t know if you know him.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Dean couldn’t believe he got that one out with a straight face, because who had those kinds of relationships with freaking demons?

“You’d remember him if you’d met him. Most demons have black eyes, right? Crossroads demons have red, Lilith and her immediate subordinates have white. Well, Azazel has yellow.” He grimaced.

“Wait – yellow?” He remembered the flash of his father’s eyes, chartreuse in the darkness. “That son of a bitch possessed Dad right before he died!”

“Holy – well, it’s not surprising that he didn’t make it,” Sam said, sitting down. “Azazel is a big deal, Dean. He’s not just any demon; he’s one of the Fallen. One of the angels who Fell with Lucifer, only instead of being imprisoned in the Cage his Grace was twisted into a demonic spirit. He’s immensely powerful, more powerful than human minds like ours can entirely comprehend.” He shuddered, curtaining his face with his hair before springing to his feet. “This is… this is important, Dean.”

“So the demon that killed my family is your father?” Dean distilled.

Sam gave him a look that was part disgust, part sadness. “Dude. No. I’m not a demon. I’m not even part demon. Why are you even listening to Meg? She’s a liar, a body thief.”

“But why would she say things like that, Sam?”

“I don’t know, to piss me off. Because Jim and I have exorcised tons of demons from human hosts over the past ten years. Because she liked having me for a host and she can’t get back in. I don’t know.” He gestured wildly, stepping into Dean’s personal space. “What the hell kind of hunters take a demon’s word over a human’s anyway?”

“Calm down, Sammy,” he urged. “We just have to examine all angles, okay? She seemed to be targeting you last week. What did she really want?”

“She wanted me to go with her, of course. Same as she always does. Azazel thinks if he sends her and gets her to make the right noises I’ll come over to his side.” He made a face, more of a glower than anything else. “And it’s Sam. Thanks.”

“What does he think he can sell you on?” Dean wondered.

“Ugh. You know. ‘Oh, we can give you a real family, a father and a sister and a brother, everything you’ve ever wanted.’” He made a face. “They like to hit out at all sorts of things, any insecurities you have. You’re a hunter, you know how demons work.”

“But why you?” Dean shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re pretty and everything. But that’s not going to count for much when you’re nothing but black smoke. It’s not something that means a lot to demons.”

Sam gave a little chuckle. “You think I’m pretty?”

Dean felt his face flush scarlet. “I guess I said that out loud, huh?”

“Little bit.” Sam smiled softly, turning the full force of his dimples onto him. “It’s nice, though. I mean, nothing freakish about feeling good about that, right?”

Dean laughed. “No. Nothing.” Tension coiled up his back. “So it would be okay if I kissed you, maybe?”

“Mmm… I think I could find a way to live with that,” Sam teased, and bent to cover Dean’s mouth with his own.

Dean was an experienced guy, to put it mildly. Once he’d hit puberty and found willing women he hadn’t looked back, finding a substitute for the lack of affection from his father in the arms of women in every town and hamlet his giant black car passed through. He thought that experience and age would imply that he’d be a better kisser than Sam, but the way that boy captured his mouth with his and gently stole his breath right from under his nose made him feel like a blushing virgin again.

He pulled back after a moment. “Sam,” he whispered.

The boy’s smile was gentle. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes –”

“What? No! It’s just – I’ve never kissed a guy before.”

“Really? Well now I feel bad for all those guys you’ve met in all those towns you passed through.” Something about his tone bypassed Dean’s brain entirely and went straight to his groin.

“Sam – you’re underage.”

“Not today.” The predatory smile that he’d shown just before Meg had confronted them was back, and God help him but Dean was only a man.

“What do you mean?”

“Today’s my birthday. I’m eighteen.”

“Oh.” His brain caught up with the rest of him. “Oh!”

“Right.”

“You know, I’ve got a motel room. If, you know, you wanted….” He felt cheap, offering to just drag him back to a motel room like that. Eighteen or not this was still a high school kid, and a kid he was supposed to be observing in case he turned out to be some kind of monster. Not a one night stand, not someone who could turn into a repeat act or a long-term partner.

But here Sam was taking his hand with a shy smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said.

Dean led the way back to the Impala, and Sam settled into the shotgun position. He looked good there, even with his impossibly long legs folded up so he could fit into the car. He must come from a race of giants, Dean thought to himself. Maybe holdovers from the Fomoire, if the Fomoire decided to go and have a frolic through southern Minnesota. Well, the kid was from Boston originally, right? So it wasn’t completely out of the question. He wouldn’t let himself think about that. Instead he focused on Sam, on getting them both back to the motel in one piece.

His partner showed no sign of nerves once they arrived; he simply put his things by the bathroom door and busied himself finding something in his backpack while Dean locked all of the doors. When Dean turned around he found Sam seated calmly on the bed, a friendly smile playing around his lips. He started to stand when Dean showed he was ready but the older man approached, pressing him gently back to a sitting position. “Where’s the fire?” he asked softly, and touched his lips to Sam’s.

Sam responded just as eagerly to his kiss now, neither greedy nor standoffish. His lips parted when Dean brushed his tongue up against them, allowing him entrance, but he wasn’t some kind of passive little kid who didn’t know what he was doing. One massive hand threaded itself into Dean’s hair while the other one found its way to the small of Dean’s back, pulling him closer. Dean could feel the heat radiating off Sam, could have practically fried an egg on his shoulders. He moaned softly as Sam sucked on his bottom lip and pulled his head back for air.

Sam didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. He nibbled gently along Dean’s jawline, not enough to break the skin or leave a mark but enough to make his cock sit up and take notice. He didn’t know when he’d gotten interested in guys – well, of course he did. He’d gotten interested in guys the moment Sam Murphy had walked into his life, and here he was satisfying those needs. There was nothing wrong with that. He just needed to move like he was with any other lover – the equipment didn’t matter as long as he left his partner satisfied, right?

He moved his own hands down and tugged at the hem of Sam’s sweater. “Too many clothes,” he declared.

“You’re not wrong,” Sam agreed with a grin, and allowed his shirt and undershirt to be stripped from him. Good God but the kid was ripped; he’d gotten the suggestion of sculpture when he’d seen him in just the police tee but no high school kid had the right to be this cut. His arms, his shoulders, his abs – he was like a work of art, a statue come to life. His tattoos – odd symbols, probably designed to keep demons out – only emphasized his muscle tone.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean breathed. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

Sam just laughed and helped Dean off with his own shirt. “Not just for looking,” he pointed out helpfully, licking at the sweat collecting in Dean’s collarbone.

“No,” Dean smiled. “It’s not, is it?” He gently pushed the younger man back onto the mattress. Tension evaporated from Sam’s body in visible waves as more of Dean’s skin touched his, and the hunter found that he liked that in ways he didn’t expect. He liked seeing all of that coiled grace loosen up and relax, become unrestrained as he straddled the boy. He liked feeling Sam’s hard length, encased in denim as it was, underneath him. He liked it because it meant that he had brought some happiness, some measure of contentment, to Sam’s life. He’d taken care of him.

_Take care of Sammy._

It had been the directive of his life for seven years, and not just seven years but the most formative and traumatic years of his life. This wasn’t the same Sammy, not anything like him. But it was a Sam, and he’d been hurt and wronged, and Dean could take care of him. He slid his mouth down his partner’s body, relishing the way his tongue bounced over the chiseled abs before he got to the waistband of Sam’s jeans.

“Is this okay?” he asked Sam, hand hovering over the button.

“It’s fine by me,” Sam breathed. “Are you sure? I know you haven’t been with a guy before. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Sam, it’s you. I couldn’t feel uncomfortable. Besides, I’m offering. You’re not asking me to do anything.” He unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and slowly, tantalizingly pulled the zipper down.

Sam had opted to go commando today. Dean made a mental note of that, filing that away for later before wrapping his head around the cock in front of him. _Definitely descended from a race of giants_ , he thought wildly, before pulling the jeans and socks off. Sam was naked now, spread out and reasonably relaxed on the bed. Dean touched the swollen red member before him and Sam’s entire body gave a massive twitch. Sensitive, then.

He’d never done this. He’d never done anything like this. He’d never even contemplated anything like this, not from this side of the equation. He’d been on the receiving end plenty of times though, and he knew what he liked. When he licked a stripe up the underside of Sam’s cock Sam gasped in pleasure; he was probably doing something right. What else usually got him going? Well, he liked it when girls paid attention to the space right under the head, that usually made him pretty happy. He spent some time there and judged his success by the number of happy sounds he got out of his partner.

After a few moments he closed his mouth around the head. This part took a little getting used to; he could see why girls complained about the taste so often. In a way, though, even though it didn’t taste great it was nice. All that precome was because of Dean, because Dean was turning Sam on so much that he was leaking. That felt good, it turned Dean on even if the flavor wasn’t exactly to his taste.

Sam’s legs were spread apart, his knees slightly bent. Dean could see his hole. He groaned, which elicited a loud moan from Sam. That – that small space, that tiny aperture, was supposed to accommodate him? He pulled his mouth off Sam’s cock, making the younger man’s eyebrows draw together in consternation. “Can I…” he began.

Sam smiled gently. “Bedside table, man.”

Of course. That was what Sam had been doing while Dean had been locking the door behind them. He got up, shucked his pants and found what Sam had stashed away there, a small bottle of lube and a few condoms. He’d probably been a boy scout, too. He squinted at the directions on the bottle and put some lube on his fingers. “You sure you want this?”

“Yes,” Sam declared firmly. “Are you?”

Dean looked down at his insistent erection. “Pretty sure.”

He dropped down to his knees and took Sam back into his mouth again. This time, though, he carefully and slowly pressed one finger up and into Sam’s opening. A low groan was his reward. After a few minutes, once the finger was moving around pretty freely, he added a second. This part at least wasn’t entirely alien. He’d done this with girls a few times – not exactly often, but often enough that he had a vague idea of what was going on. He knew he needed to prepare his lover, to stretch him open before he could enter. He made a point of being patient, adding a third finger only when he felt that the first two had done their jobs.

Most of this part translated reasonably well, but some parts were a revelation. His fingers brushed against something inside Sam that had him shouting, gripping Dean’s hair hard enough that it almost hurt. “You okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Do. Not. Stop,” Sam told him, glaring even as he panted and his balls drew up. “Oh shit.” He came with a shout, sending thick ropes of come over his chest and abs.

Dean gave a low laugh as Sam sank his head back against the pillow. “I guess you liked that,” he said.

“Prostate,” he grunted, moving a little so as to better take Dean’s fingers. “Oh yeah – that’s perfect, Dean. I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Dean would have preferred more prep – the absolute last thing that he wanted to do was to hurt his beautiful boy – but the way Sam was squirming he didn’t think that Sam was going to be all that keen on any further delay. He rolled the condom on, slicked himself up and sank slowly into Sam.

Nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared him for this. Sam was so tight, so very tight, and so incredibly hot. He was going to be crushed, he was going to be crushed and cooked and he was going to love every minute of it. Sam didn’t breathe and neither did Dean as both men waited for Sam’s body to adjust to Dean’s intrusion. “Go,” he finally instructed.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice; his muscles already trembled from the strain of holding so perfectly still. He pulled his hips slowly back and then snapped them forward, eliciting a cry from Sam. He didn’t insult Sam by treating him like he was going to break – the kid had done this before, had a reputation with both men and women – but Dean took his time and gave it to him tenderly. He wanted to give Sam a graphic demonstration, in ways that the man was likely to be able to understand, that he wasn’t just some one-night stand. He was cherished. He was special.

Sam hardened under him again, eyes rolling in his head. Only after he came again did Dean finally release into the condom and collapse on top of him. Sam wrapped his long arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “That was fantastic,” he murmured, a blissful smile on his face.

Dean let himself wallow in being held, in being appreciated, for a moment. “I wish someone had told me today was your birthday,” he said. “I’d have gotten you a better present than that.”

“No,” Sam told him. “You wouldn’t. Might have tried though.” And hell if that didn’t feel good.

He did have to get up and dispose of the condom eventually; he grabbed a washcloth to clean them both up on the return trip and they fell into a light doze under the scratchy sheets.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe Sam did have some kind of demonic influence after him. Dean didn’t care. He already had three perfectly good reasons to kill Azazel; one more would just make it that much sweeter when he found a way to nail that yellow-eyed bastard.

He woke from his unscheduled nap to the sound of his phone buzzing – no, to the sound of two phones buzzing. Sam groaned. “You get yours first,” he scowled. “Bobby’s is probably hunting related.”

“How do you know it’s Bobby?” Dean wondered. That didn’t stop him from retrieving his phone and answering it on the very last ring. “Hey, Bobby.” It had been a lucky guess, that was the only possible explanation.

“Dean. Have you seen Sam Murphy? You were supposed to have eyes on him when he left the school.” Bobby’s voice was all wrong, tense and excited but frightened at the same time.

“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on him. Why? What’s up?” He tried not to think about what else he had on him at the moment.

“I need you to collect him and bring him back to the rectory right away. It’s important.”

Dean sat bolt upright. “What? I thought Pastor Jim said he’d shoot us if we went anywhere near Sam again.”

“Things’ve changed, son.” His mentor sighed. “He may be in danger. And not from us. Just… bring him home. It ain’t such an interesting story that I’m keen to tell it twice.”

“I gotcha, Bobby.” He hung up. “All right, we need to get cleaned up and head back over to the rectory.”

“That probably has something to do with the three calls Uncle Jim has left me.” He grimaced. “I’m in for it. I’d better return the calls.” He grabbed his phone and called. “Hi, Uncle Jim. Yes, sir – no, sorry. I had my phone off. No, I had a date. I know. A gentleman doesn’t take calls in the middle of –” He grinned impishly. “Yes, sir. No, sir. I see him. No, I know things are on kind of a bad note with them right now but he’s been following me for a week. I can probably persuade him to give me a ride if he’s got to go to the same place anyway.” Dean couldn’t help it. He swatted Sam with a pillow.

The pair dressed quickly, Dean made some necessary repairs to his hairstyle and they made their way back to the rectory. Jim and Bobby waited for them there. “We’ll talk about your ‘date’ later, young man,” the priest told Sam sternly. “Right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry than your libido.”

“What’s wrong, sir?” Dean asked politely, seeing Sam hang his head slightly. “Not that I’m not thrilled that the two of you are talking again, but I have to admit that I’m more than a little shocked. What’s going on?”

“We had two major developments today while Azazel’s golden boy here was –” Pastor Jim cleared his throat loudly and Bobby gave an exaggerated nod. “I apologize. I meant to say while Pastor Jim’s nephew was on a date, and while mine was off watching him. A young girl from Sam’s school was found dead today, down in the boiler room.”

Sam frowned. “Oh my God. Who?”

“Lily Heldal,” Pastor Jim replied. “She’d just moved here in September.”

“We were friends,” Sam remembered. “Friendly, anyway. She was kind of prickly, but her parents kicked her out of the house when they found her with a girl. Her aunt took her in to finish her senior year.” He grimaced. “Oh my… wow. What, uh, what happened to her?”

“The cops are calling it suicide,” Bobby filled in. “I ain’t never seen a suicide that strangled herself with her own two hands. The killer used a rope after the fact, but you couldn’t miss the bruising under the damn thing.” He shook his head.

The senior sat down, head in his hands. “Was there any sulfur?”

“None,” Jim told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and stroking his hair gently. “I’m sorry, son. She was your friend.”

“She was. But… I mean… I’ll go to the funeral and everything. But what does this have to do with us?” He gestured to the four of them and to the church. “I mean, you and me, Uncle Jim, sure. But Dean and Bobby Singer? They’re not from here, it’s not something that would involve them much less get the three of you back to the table together.” His face shifted, something coming to mind. “Unless you think I had something to do with it?”

“What? No,” Bobby scowled. “No, It’s a much smaller hand – probably a girl, could be a very small guy. Believe it or not, boy, I’m not actually out to get you.”

Sam snorted, but said nothing. Dean felt a pang. He didn’t want bad blood or distrust between his lover and his mentor, but he could certainly understand where Sam might not trust Bobby. “So what’s the deal then?”

“The deal is that we caught a demon alive, Sam.” Jim informed him gently. “She’s possessing a bartender from town, a woman by the name of Casey. We managed to keep her in her host and brought her back here to talk to us.”

Both Sam and Dean blanched. “Torture?” Dean winced, glancing at Sam.

“Hopefully not,” the priest grimaced. “Only the real fanatics usually need that to loosen up their tongues. I’m not a big fan of that kind of thing anyway.”

“There’s not really a lot we can do to them that hasn’t already been done,” Sam murmured. “That’s how a person becomes a demon in the first place, remember?” He sighed. “So have you spoken with her?”

“No. We were waiting for you.” Bobby offered an apologetic smile. “Your uncle thought you’d want to be there. Thought real highly of your ability to question demons.”

Sam hung his head so that his hair hid most of his face. “Do you think she had anything to do with Lily’s death?”

“I don’t know, son.” Jim gripped his shoulder. “We’ll find out.”

The priest led the way down into the basement, and through a secret door in the basement to a passage leading underneath the church. In a room underneath where the altar would probably be, void of all decoration except a devil’s trap, sat a beautiful young woman. Straight brown hair, perfectly sculpted features, exquisite pink lips and a body that any fitness instructor would have sobbed over – Casey was nothing short of stunning. She sat in the middle of the devil’s trap, leaning back on her arms to give a little emphasis to her chest. “Well. If it isn’t Dean Winchester. I never thought I’d get to meet you in the flesh. After, maybe. But hey – this is special. I got to meet your daddy and now I get to meet you.”

He couldn’t help but snarl. “You leave him out of this. He’s got nothing to do with this!”

She smiled at him gently. “Calm down, Dean. I’m hardly traducing his character. I did get to meet your father. I’ve met a lot of people. He was strong. Fierce. Not much different from you. He had his flaws, of course. All humans do. He was terrified of the things he didn’t understand. And he was proud – oh, so proud. Proud enough to be one of us, almost.” Dean snarled in rage, but Sam held him back. It wasn’t like he could have done anything to her.

She gestured. “Have a seat, Dean. I’m here to talk.”

“Did you kill that girl at the high school today?” he growled.

“No,” she told him. “That’s not really my style. I’m more of an… enabler, I guess. I’d rather nudge humans in the right direction. It doesn’t take much. You whisper to the right councilman about a casino in the right place, or you wave a hooker at the right person, and they’ll march into Hell all by themselves and thank you for the trip. Half the time I don’t have to do any work at all. Isn’t that right, Dean?” She winked at him.

“Do you know who did kill the girl at the high school today?” Bobby interrupted.

“The killer was human, I can tell you that much. Well, mostly human. She’s one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“Experiments?” Jim frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Azazel – you do know who he is, right? Well, he needed people who could perform certain tasks. Those people needed to have loyalty to him, but be able to avoid things that affect demons. So years ago – quite a lot of years ago really – he started making plans. He started making deals with women.”

“What kind of deals?” Bobby scowled.

“I wouldn’t have thought a yellow-eyed demon would have lowered himself to making deals,” Sam frowned.

“Oh, but he wouldn’t have trusted any mere crossroads devil to this kind of work, Sam,” she told him, with a lift of her eyebrows. “No, this was too important. He needed their permission to access their children. That was all. And he got it, from every single one. And ten years later, he collected. Lily Heldal’s mother was one of those women.” She gave a thin, feline smile. “He gave every one of those children a gift: his unholy blood.”

Sam looked green. “So you’re saying that Lily has demon blood inside of her. And so does her killer.”

“And so,” Casey added with a grin like a cat with a giant bowl of cream, “did little Sammy Winchester. You remember him, right, Dean?”

“That’s not possible. My mother wouldn’t –” He choked himself off.

“People do all kinds of things when they’re desperate, Dean,” she told him. The kicker was, she really did sound sympathetic. “I don’t know what it was with her. I don’t. She might not even have known, entirely, what she was agreeing to. But she did sell her son to Azazel, the same as all of these other parents.”

“That’s impossible!” Dean roared.

“That’s exactly what your father said when I told him.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, in the end.”

“Azazel and his daughter have been harassing my boy,” Jim challenged her. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Sure,” she said, blinking innocently over black eyes.

“Care to share with the class?” Dean spat, trying desperately to force himself to focus on the demon in front of him.

“Azazel wants Sam because Sam is his successor. Sam is going to lead the armies of Hell.” She smiled at him. “It’s an honor to meet you, your Highness.”

“I’m not leading anything,” Sam vowed, and his voice didn’t shake at all.

“I’m sorry, Sam. Ultimately you will.”


	5. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexually explicit material.

Dean’s heart froze in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was freezing because of her words, or the look on Bobby’s face, or the look on Sam’s. “What makes you say that?” Bobby demanded. “Are you saying that Sam is another of Azazel’s experiments? Because Lily didn’t turn out bad.”

“No, she didn’t,” Casey admitted. “Ever notice how she tried to avoid touching people? Azazel’s blood gives people gifts. I mean, come on. He’s the most powerful demon in existence. He was an angel, for crying out loud. His blood, given to an infant, bonds to their very marrow. It does change them. They’re still mostly human, just… enhanced. Lily’s gifts made her touch dangerous. Her parents didn’t just catch her with a girl; touching the lady in question killed her. Others have other abilities. Super strength, electrokinesis.

“But your Sam, he’s different. Isn’t he?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re wrong. About everything. I’m not any different from anyone else. I’m just a normal teenager.”

Casey leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “It was very important to Azazel that you were born, Sam. He took every step necessary to make sure that you happened. He’s taken a strong interest in your development ever since. Hasn’t he?”

Dean found his voice. It had disappeared when he heard that demon… thing… talking about his mother. Kind of like it had disappeared for a while when she’d been killed, leaving him only able to really speak to Sammy. But now he found it again. “Why would you tell us this? I mean, assuming that it’s true. Why would you give us this kind of information?”

“Because it’s useless to you.” She shrugged. “It might give you some kind of closure, I suppose. I mean, you should know what you’ve been forced into, Dean. No one would think less of you for backing out. What’s happening is beyond you. It’s beyond humanity. You can’t stop it. Bobby, I’m sorry. But Karen – she made a deal too. Your child would have been one of ours too. One of his, no different from Lily or the others.”

“But different from me,” Sam inserted.

“Yes,” she told him softly. “I’m sorry.”

Sam got up and left the room.

Dean wanted to get up and go after him. He wanted to go wrap him in his arms, to tell him that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to tell him “demons lie.” He wanted to tell him that nothing could possibly make Sam even a little bit different than he already was, that he was perfect. Beautiful.

But he had to admit that Casey seemed willing to let it all hang out. And what was Sam going to hear, anyway? What could he possibly say that Sam would grasp? The poor guy’s world was collapsing; nothing Dean could say would ever make that right. Not now – maybe in a few nights or a week or a month. “Alright, sister,” he growled as the secret door closed behind him. “You have to know that this doesn’t end well for you.”

“On the contrary. I’ve made my peace with my Lord.” She smiled. “Besides, the worst you can do is send me back to Hell and I’ll be welcomed as a hero.”

“Is there anything else that you want to share with us?” Jim ground out through gritted teeth.

“I don’t see why you’re fighting us so hard. You’ve destroyed the world. We’ve barely had a hand in anything this past century. Four major genocides, countless smaller-scale genocides, murder on an unprecedented scale, chemical warfare, environmental destruction on a scale that will appall Lucifer himself – don’t you think it’s our turn now? Our Lord is real. He is attentive. And he’ll do things right this time.” She shook her head. “Join us, Dean. Believe me. You’re coming to us anyway, and you won’t be the first. You’ll be rewarded. You can be with the one you want.”

“Send her back,” he directed, and he walked out the door. He couldn’t let them see how tempting it was - the idea of being rewarded had always kind of hung out there, a forbidden carrot on a very distant string. Dad would have had his hide if he’d even suggested it - “saving people is the reward, boy!” - but why couldn’t he have been a little more comfortable doing it? And why couldn’t he have a long term partner, someone who loved him the way Mom had loved Dad? Why couldn’t he be with Sam? It was all crap, of course – what could she mean, he was coming to them anyway? What could stop him from being with the one he lo- cared for? He might as well go try to be supportive. It probably wouldn’t do Sam much good but it would get him away from Casey.

Sam wasn’t in his room. That wasn’t surprising. The kid had just had the foundations of his entire world rocked to their very core and not in a good way. Dean made his way out into the town. He didn’t really expect to find Sam. He didn’t think he was ready for company. The guy probably needed it; a particularly vicious part of him wanted to point out that Sam had plenty of people who could provide comfort and distraction, people who didn’t have as much baggage of their own to sort out.

His feet led him toward the Jolly Green Giant statue, and why not? It was a perfectly good landmark. He could find his way back to the church that way; it wasn’t like he hadn’t walked it often enough following Sam around. Funny; when he’d come here as a child he’d never really explored Blue Earth. They’d been hidden children, very much refugees from the world in the rafters of the rectory. The only way he knew anything about Blue Earth was from Sam.

Christ. His mother. If Casey was to be believed, and there was no reason she wasn’t, Dean’s mother had made a deal for baby Sammy. Well, that was reason enough right there. Who sold their child to the devil? Who did that? But Casey didn’t have a reason to lie. She seemed sincere. What would she have gained by lying? Did that mean she was in Hell, now? Had she become a demon already?

But if she had in fact sold baby Sammy to Azazel, she’d apparently repented. She’d died by Sammy’s crib, defending him. Well, over Sammy’s crib, but that was close enough, right? He didn’t have to cope with the idea that his mother was in hell too?

“Thought I’d find you here.” Sam’s voice cut through the chilly spring air. He shoved his hands into his pockets and Dean couldn’t help but remember the fact that the guy wasn’t wearing underwear. His breath forced little clouds in the humid air.

“That was an intense scene,” Dean told the youth. He needed to mourn, to process, but take care of Sammy overrode all of that. And, to be honest, it kind of needed to. Finding out that his mother had been kind of shady was one thing, not that he believed it for a minute. Finding out that a demon had done “every step necessary” to ensure his birth was something else. Getting addressed as “Your Highness” by a demon was even worse.

“I can ignore it.” The words were strong. So was the set of his jaw and his shoulders. He wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye. “Demons say whatever they need to say to get free, to rattle their captors.”

“That wasn’t her goal.” He paused. “Do you have abilities?”

“Dean –”

“Sam. I think I have the right to know.” And he didn’t, not really. He wasn’t in a position to claim that sleeping with someone once gave him any rights over him. And Sam, Sam knew that. He got that, because his promiscuity was on a level to make priests shake their head and high school girls use it as a reward for good grades.

But Sam looked away. “My family dumped me when I started showing signs of telekinesis,” he muttered.

Dean widened his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

“You could’ve gotten the condoms yourself.”

Sam laughed, which was the goal. “Okay, sure.”

“Seriously, though. That’s it? Do you know Fred Jones?”

“Sure. When I started showing signs that was the first person Father Jim took me to see. I must have been about nine when he gave me my first beer.” Sam blinked.

“Heh. Small world. Okay. Being telekinetic doesn’t make you a demon, Sam.” He reached out and put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s okay”

“It’s not okay, Dean. A demon thinks I’m going to take over the shop when he decides to retire and raise goats for their wool or something. I should have tried harder to get you or Bobby to shoot me.” He glared and stepped away.

“Sam, no. We’ll get through this.”

“We won’t. We can’t. There’s no… there’s no help for this. There’s no fixing it. There’s… Getting possessed is one thing. Having a demon’s blood in my veins – that’s something else.” He sighed. “And there are others.”

“That’s what Casey said.” He looked away. “Sam, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do it, Dean. You gave me some mind-blowing sex. Made me feel like a person for what’s probably the very last time. Don’t apologize for that, okay? Please.” He forced a grin.

“Sam, you are a person, damn it. You’re a great guy. You’re hot, you’re smart, you’re funny. And don’t forget, you’re going to Stanford in the fall. Someone just did something to you when you were a baby. That’s all.” He reached out and grabbed Sam’s wrist gently.

“Oh, no no no, Dean. I’m ‘different. I’m special.’” The way he said that word, with its bitter twist, was so much like the way that Dad had said it that for a moment Dean thought he might be back, reincarnate.

“Sam.” He kissed Sam then, not with the degree of desire and urgency he had before, but gently and softly. Sam responded instantly, opening up as though a switch had been flipped. “Yes, you’re special. But not like that. We’re going to get through this.”

Sam closed his eyes, inhaled deeply once. “I guess if anything was inevitable the bastard wouldn’t keep sending Meg to pester me.” He folded his lips together. “He might win. He might not. But I’m not giving him me.” He looked up at Dean through his bangs, completely void of weakness. “Evil is a choice, every time. And I don’t have to choose that.”

“Good man.” Dean kissed him again – not because Sam’s big demonic freakout needed the interruption, but because he wanted to.

Sam let his hands wander under Dean’s shirt. “I can’t thank you enough, Dean,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for you today would have been –”

Dean grinned. “I’m sure you can think of a way,” he teased. “But later. For now we should get back to the others. We’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah.” He stood up, shoulders back and head high.

They made their way back to Pastor Jim’s. Neither the priest nor the hunter said anything about their disappearance. The pretty bartender had been brought home after an exorcism, but there was still work to be done. “I’ve sat here with your daddy’s journal,” Bobby informed Dean. “It seems that there’s a weapon that could possibly kill a demon, even one as powerful as Azazel.”

Dean couldn’t quite tell which of the younger men was more excited about that statement. “Oh yeah?” he asked the bearded hunter. “What is it?”

“John Winchester wrote about a gun, a special gun crafted by Samuel Colt himself. It was supposed to be able to kill anything – vampire, demon, werewolf, you name it.” Pastor Jim sighed and sat down. “He was… he was a hunter, apparently. Anyway. Your father, Dean, thought that it was in the possession of a vampire hunter by the name of Daniel Elkins.”

Sam frowned. “Why do I think I’ve heard that name before?”

Dean ran his hand through his hair. “We used to go spend time at Elkins’ place in Colorado when I was real young – like when Dad was first starting out as a hunter. They were friends, but they had a falling out. I don’t remember why.”

Bobby grinned wryly. “Your daddy had a lot of fallings-out with a lot of people, Dean. He was – well, the best way to describe him would have been ‘single minded.’”

“Can’t argue with that,” Dean agreed.

“In Elkins’ case, the falling out was over the Colt. He wanted Elkins to give him the Colt but he wouldn’t. Anyway. I spoke to him. He’s willing to part with it now, under the circumstances. It’s about a fourteen-hour drive. Are the two of you up for an overnight trip?” Jim looked between the pair of them. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but –”

“I’m in,” Sam announced firmly. “I don’t care; I’ll go alone if I have to.”

“You don’t have to go alone, Sam,” Dean told him, a hand on his back. “I’ll drive. “

Jim glanced between the lovers. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened, but he said nothing. “All right. Well, you can go ahead and get started then. Bobby and I will start working on the other kids, the ones he experimented on. We’ll see if we can get any leads. One thing’s for sure – Azazel seems to be intending to come here. So don’t get distracted, boys.” He glanced between them.

“No sir,” Sam told him with a grim little smile. “I’m not much of a skier anyway. How about you, Dean?”

“Pretty sure the season’s over anyway. Get your stuff, Sammy. We’re going on a road trip.”

Sam didn’t take long to pack, which Dean took as a personal sign that God or whoever looked on their relationship with approval, and they were out the door without pausing for breath. They stopped at a drive through about an hour later for dinner. Dean offered to go to an actual diner, but Sam didn’t want to get out of the car even though the food would be healthier. “I just want to get this over with,” he explained. “We’ll have to stop for the night anyway; I don’t want to stop for food too.”

Dean slumped a little. “The prospect of a night together that bad, Sammy?”

“What?” Sam blinked. “No, not at all. It’s the best part of this whole mess.” He reached out and took Dean’s hand. “I just… I’m sorry. You heard some things too, things you’re probably having a hard time with, and I’m sitting here thinking about myself.” He shook his head.

“It’s okay, Sam. All this stuff – you’re the one who has to live with it. It’s all just stuff that happened years ago, for the rest of us.” He straightened up a little. “We’re going to get this son of a bitch, Sammy. Everything he’s done to my family, everything he’s done to you, everything he’s done to all of those other families, to Bobby – it’s going to end.”

Sam squeezed his hand and offered him a smile.

They stopped for the night in Sioux City. It wasn’t all that far from Blue Earth, only about two and a half hours, but it had been a long day for both men and that still meant less time they needed to spend on the road tomorrow. They checked into a hotel – not a crappy fleabag motel like Dean was used to but a halfway-decent motel that kind of impressed Dean thanks to Pastor Jim’s generosity. The beds were comfortable and clean, the bathroom had no trace of mold – it was a lot like paradise.

“I don’t want to make assumptions, Sam,” he said, hands by his side. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you and it’s been a long crappy day, but –”

Sam’s smile was wolfish. “But you wouldn’t object to a little bit of distraction?” He put his hands on Dean’s hips and drew him in close. “Me either.”

Dean kissed him and they undressed. Something about this guy, the completely unconscious way in which he carried his body, just cut out all rational thought. As soon as they were both naked Sam approached Dean and reached out for him. “Something I’ve been wanting to do for a week,” he announced. “Is this okay?”

“Is what okay?” Dean grinned.

Sam was already dropping to his knees, holding Dean’s eyes even as he started with kitten licks up the side of Dean’s cock. “Oh God yes,” he groaned as Sam slipped the head, just the head, into his mouth. He lavished the crown with his tongue’s attention, spending extra time on the slit like it had been made just for his tongue. Dean grabbed onto Sam’s shaggy hair, not because he wanted to force him lower but because he had to grab onto something to keep his balance.

Sam, still somehow maintaining eye contact, lowered his mouth down Dean’s shaft inch by precious inch with hollowed-out cheeks. “Sweet merciful God,” the hunter groaned, and Sam just chuckled. His voice, though, it wasn’t just his voice. It was the vibration of his vocal cords on Dean’s dick, and it was just too much. The case, Azazel, the room, the whole world disappeared until nothing existed but Sam’s hot, wet mouth. “Sam!” he cried, and spilled down his throat.

Sam kept at him until he’d completely rode out his orgasm, swallowing everything he had to give and not spilling a drop. Only then did he rise, helping the suddenly boneless Dean to sink to the nearest bed with a gentle little smile. “That,” Dean gasped, “was the single best blow job I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

Sam smirked, stretching out beside him. His own erection lay hot and heavy against Dean’s thigh. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about that since I met you, so…”

“Seriously?”

“Have you met yourself? I mean, those eyes, those freckles, the way you just jumped in to help Clay.” He shrugged. “Yeah. You’re something else, Dean.” He ran a hand over Dean’s chest. “I get that we’ve got some stuff in common and everything and that’s just icing on the cake, you know? But you’re incredible.”

As rational thought began to return to Dean’s brain he reached out for Sam, took him in hand. He loved the way that Sam looked in his arms, the way his eyes rolled back a little when he got turned on or when he was really getting into it. He loved the sounds Sam made, his little groans and gasps. He wasn’t used to being somewhere private, Dean realized. He was still in high school, of course. He had an attentive guardian and presumably so did his usual partners. Eventually Dean would teach him to make noise, to let himself be heard enjoying himself and taking pleasure. He could see that – the open road stretching out before them by day, maybe a room with just a king sized bed at night. Who cared if the kid could move things around with his brain? Who cared if a week ago Dean would never have thought of a guy this way? All he wanted now was Sam. All he needed now was Sam.

Sam came hard, eyes rolling back so hard that all Dean could see was the whites. That was fine – Dean had come back to himself enough to get a washcloth and clean them both up. They moved to the other bed, the still-pristine bed, to sleep for the night, wrapped up in each other’s arms like they didn’t have a care in the world. Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

They spent the next day driving to Manning, Colorado. Sam offered to spell Dean behind the wheel but he declined; he loved the guy, he’d die for him and he’d live for him and he’d suck his dick until the cows came home but letting him behind the wheel of his baby was something very different. Sam seemed to be okay with that; he seemed to like looking out over the landscape.

Daniel Elkins met them at his cabin just outside of town. He was an older guy – well, that made sense. He’d been older than Dad when Dean had been a little kid; it only made sense that he looked old now. Besides, hunting wasn’t exactly a profession that led to the preservation of one’s youthful looks. “You’re John’s boys?” he grunted by way of greeting, flicking a cigarette into an old coffee can.

“I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean confirmed. “My little brother didn’t make it. This here is Sam Murphy; he’s Pastor Jim Murphy’s nephew and protégé. We’re hunting the same thing; I think Pastor Jim might’ve told you something about why?”

“Yup. You think you know where this big boss demon’ll be?”

“We’re pretty sure,” Sam informed him. “We’ve got the right bait, sir. He’ll come for it, fairly soon.”

Elkins held Sam’s eyes. Dean tried to keep his hackles from rising. They needed this guy, needed the gun in his possession. “You think you can get the shot off?” he asked finally.

“I think Dean can,” he replied evenly. “I’m a decent shot. Dean’s a trained and experienced hunter. I’m not going to risk our one shot on my ego.”

The older man relaxed a little bit. “The Colt only works with the bullets that were made for it,” he explained, turning around and walking into the cabin. “I mean, it will work with other bullets, sure, but not the way you need it to. I suppose you could kill a housebreaker with it though. There are six bullets left. Do not waste them. Colt didn’t leave any kind of journal, not that anyone’s found yet, that tells us how to make more of them.” He strode over to an old-fashioned bankers’ desk and moved it aside with a strength that belied his scrawny frame, revealing a slightly discolored panel in the floor. The panel proved to be a false floor, which hid a combination safe. Dean looked conspicuously at the ceiling, elbowing Sam to do the same until Elkins rose to his feet again. In his hands he held a pistol case. “I never gave this to your daddy,” he explained. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to get his revenge or whatever. He didn’t have the knowledge, he didn’t even know who or what he was going after. Having this gun – it’s a declaration of war. They will find out that you have it, eventually. If he’d had it before he knew what he was dealing with, who to protect himself from…”

“He’d have been torn limb from limb,” Dean finished, nodding grimly.

“Not just him, kid,” Elkins reminded him firmly. “Without the gun, the demon was pretty much content to leave you and him alone until he got close enough to be a threat. You keep this thing safe. I’m sorry he couldn’t have lived to see the day when he could have been ready to use it. But I’d like to think he’d be happy knowing it was you, Dean. He – well, you always were John’s favorite, back when you were small fry.” The implication that Sammy had not been Sam’s favorite was clear, and Dean wanted to object. Dad had loved Sammy, of course he had. But now wasn’t the time for that.

Dean felt tears spring to his eye but he blinked them back. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” He accepted the pistol case. It felt heavy in his hands. “I know you won’t, son. You be careful on your way back to Blue Earth, you hear me?”

“Yes sir. I’ll let you know when it’s over.”

They found another hotel to check into for the night. Dean wanted to check out the gun, but Sam stopped him. “The box – it’s a curse box, see?” He pointed out the markings on the pistol case. “Opening the box might just announce our location, announce that we have the gun. I don’t know, that kind of thing isn’t my specialty, but let’s wait until we get back home, okay?” He turned those eyes of his onto Dean, wide and pleading. Dean couldn’t say no, of course.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Let’s just hit the sack, alright?”

Sam, as it turned out, was more than willing to go to bed. They didn’t fool around much – the Colt loomed too large in both of their imaginations for any kind of sexual activity beyond a little bit of kissing. That was okay. They had plenty of time, right? Once Azazel was gone they’d have the rest of their lives.

He laughed at himself – the thought of it, him spending the rest of his life with someone, anyone. His dad would laugh. His dad would flip, and not because Sam was a guy. “You don’t get to have attachments in this life, boy,” the elder Winchester had told his son more than once. “Attachments get you dead. Have your fun, but keep your distance.”

They got up early the next morning and showered together, not for the sake of enjoying each other’s bodies but to save time. Sam didn’t even want breakfast. “My stomach is one giant knot right now,” he confessed. “God, I’m so nervous I can’t even hold my hand straight.”

Dean shook his head. “What’s to be nervous about?” he wondered. “It’s a milk run, Sam. We went for a road trip, we got the thing, we’re heading back. Not a big deal.”

Sam’s leg was vibrating hard enough to shake the whole car, or it would have if the car hadn’t been moving. “Okay. You know how I told you I’m telekinetic, right?” Dean nodded. “Well that’s not… it’s not the only thing. Okay?”

“I don’t follow.” This sounded like it could be a long discussion, but fourteen and a half hours was a long drive. They had time.

“Um. Sometimes I, uh, see things before they happen.” He slumped down in his seat, trying to sink below the level of the window.

“Come again?” Dean blinked, gripping the steering wheel.

“Like… like I knew that something big was going to happen last week when Travis and Clay fought.” He pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Only when I saw it Travis actually wound up killing Clay. Sometimes I manage to stop it. Sometimes I don’t.”

“You’re precognitive.” Dean turned his head to look directly at his lover. “You don’t think it might have been important to tell me something like that, Sam?” This was what he got for thinking ahead, because of course the kid had hid that from him. The telekinesis was one thing, but this other thing was something else. Why wouldn’t he have admitted it at the same time as the telekinesis unless there was something wrong with it, something very wrong?

Sam glared right back. “Can you think of a few reasons why I might not have done that, Dean? Like, I don’t know. You and your surrogate dad wanting to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you, Sam!” the hunter roared. “That’s Bobby, not me. Never me.”

“I’m psychic, you’re a hunter,” Sam shouted back. “There’s only one way that’s going to go nine times out of ten. And that was before I found out about Azazel and what he apparently did to me.” His hand clenched into a fist but he pounded it against his own leg, not the car. “Damn it, I knew it was all –” he bit his words off and set his jaw.

“Sam, you freaking lied to me!” Dean challenged. He kept his hands on the wheel but he didn’t, couldn’t turn his head to look at his lover. “How am I supposed to trust you when you freaking hide things like that?”

“You’re not,” Sam declared in a flat tone that had Dean’s blood running cold. “Just drive. Quickly, all right?” His eyes tightened and his mouth folded into a grim line. He was shutting Dean out, shutting everything down, and Dean should be worried about that. He knew that he should be worried about that and on some level he was, but at the same time he hadn’t gotten over his anger yet. Sam had lied, or at least not told the whole truth, and when it came to stuff like wacky mystical powers granted by a demon claiming paternity that was kind of a big deal. He’d get over it. Eventually. But for now Dean was angry, and he wanted Sam to know how angry he was. So he glowered and turned up the radio, letting Metallica eat up the hours between Colorado and Minnesota instead of talking to Sam.

The guy had to learn – he had to learn that he didn’t get to hide that kind of crap. Not from hunters, not from anyone. Not if he wanted to be considered trustworthy. Being afraid that hunters would see him as fair game was no excuse – being all shifty about it just made him look even less trustworthy. Maybe Pastor Jim had let him get away with this crap, assuming that he’d let the priest know anything in the first place. You couldn’t count on anything with this kid.

And the silent treatment didn’t seem to be affecting Sam at all. He sat in his seat, eyes straight ahead and his hands balled into fists. They did not unclench, not once. He didn’t ask to stop at all during the entire trip. He didn’t open his mouth to speak, or to eat, or to drink. He stared and he clenched and that was it. After about seven hours Dean’s anger started to dissipate a bit, but Sam didn’t budge. Dean didn’t feel like he should be the one to do the chasing – he was the injured party here, not Sam – so he let the boy stew.

After what was probably the longest and most difficult car ride he’d ever endured they pulled up to the rectory. Sam was unbuckling his seat belt even before Dean had finished pulling up to the driveway; he jumped out of the car before Dean had hit the brakes. And that kid was flying up the few steps to the rectory door – he wasn’t passing go or collecting two hundred dollars. Damn it, Dean thought. Sam had seemed so much more mature than that; was he seriously in that much of a sulk that he was going to go storming up to his room like some kind of toddler? He wasn’t even pausing to open the door; it flew open before he could even reach it. Dean chased after him, struggling to keep up.

The sight that greeted him in the rectory living room had him shaking his head. Caleb’s headless body lay on the coffee table, head between his feet like Anne Boleyn. Dean hadn’t even known Bobby had called him in. The coffee table was the only stick of furniture that could be said to remain whole; the rest lay in piles around the floor, smashed beyond recognition. Bobby Singer lay on his side, handcuffed and unconscious. At least, Dean hoped he was unconscious. The blonde demon Meg stood over it all, sneering.

Sam stood up from where he’d checked Bobby’s pulse, face a snarl of hate. “What did you do to my uncle?” he spat out, stepping forward. Dean bent down to start picking the lock on the cuffs.

“Oh, poor little brother misses his foster daddy,” she pouted, eyes wide. “That’s sweet. Really. Here’s the thing, Sammy. I know that you have the gun.”

“What would I do with a gun, Meg?” He spread his arms wide. “Do I look like some kind of a gunslinger to you?” He smirked. “You’re the one with the cowboy fetish. Not me.”

“Quit playing around, numbskull. If you want the priest you’ll hand the piece over.”

“I don’t have it.” He rolled his eyes. “What, you want to pat me down?”

“Aw, won’t loverboy get jealous?”

“We broke up,” Sam told her evenly.

Dean didn’t let himself react to Sam’s words, not visibly, but he staggered inside. He’d thought that Sam was mature enough to handle an argument – but then again, Sam apparently thought Dean was just biding his time waiting to kill him or something. Didn’t care about him at all. He never should have let himself get attached.

“Oh now ain’t that a shame. Everyone in the Pit was really rooting for the two of you. Well, except for Papa Winchester, but you know how that goes.” She sneered.

“You leave my father out of this you bitch!” Dean yelled, standing up.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, I forgot. You don’t.” She smiled sweetly. “You want the priest back? You give me the gun.”

Sam inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they were gold. Dean gasped. For a moment he felt sick – but no, these weren’t the same shade as the Yellow-Eyed Demon. These were their own unique shade, more like a harvest moon in October than like Mountain Dew. “I have a better idea, Meg,” he replied, stepping into the demon’s space. “We’re going to give your father what he really wants. How’s that?”

Meg opened her mouth to object. Sam just grinned – a terrible rictus, the kind of look that was far too old to be seen on an eighteen-year-old face. The demon’s face twisted in agony and Sam relaxed a little. “Fine,” Meg panted. “We’ll go.”

He smiled. “Excellent.”

“Sam, wait,” Dean objected. “You can’t just go taking off with your demon sister –”

“What are you going to do, Dean?” Sam asked in the coldest voice Dean had ever heard from human lips, and that included his father’s voice when he’d talked about losing his baby brother. “Shoot me?” He put a hand on Meg’s arm, gripping her tight, and the pair disappeared.

“Balls,” Bobby objected.


	6. Part Five

Dean helped Bobby into a more upright position. “How much of that were you awake for?” he asked. His hands trembled but he kept his voice steady.

“Enough,” the bearded hunter grunted. “I came to when Sam put his hands on me. We got troubles, Dean.” His eyes looked deeply sunken, whether from the beating he’d clearly taken or from grief Dean couldn’t tell.

“Tell me about it. Was that another one of his little secret superpowers?” He shook his head. What else had the kid been holding back on?

“Might have been.” Bobby rubbed at his bruised wrists. “Might have been coincidence, too. Not a lot of demons can heal by laying on hands. They took Jim, Dean.”

“Yeah, I got that. They give you any ideas on where they might’ve taken him?”

“Your guess is as good as – “ He cut himself off. “It’s a long shot. But Dean – I know you and the boy were getting along real well there for a while.”

Dean stood very still. “What are you trying to say, Bobby?”

“He’s one of them, Dean. And so were two of the kids that came with that yellow-eyed bastard to take him hostage. We can’t take the chance that he’s somehow not going to turn.” He sighed. “Your daddy… your daddy knew.”

“He knew what, Bobby.” Dean rubbed at his temples. “Knew that there was a kid up in Boston with demon blood in him?”

“He knew about kids with demon blood. He mentioned it to me, a little before he died. Said he’d known for a long time. He and I hunted a couple of them down.”

Dean felt his face draw into confusion more or less independently of his brain. He got it, intellectually, but he just couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mentor’s mouth. “You… hunted and killed kids?”

“It ain’t like they’re human, Dean. They’re dangerous. One of them, the ones we went after, was starting fires. Another was controlling people with his mind, making them do all kinds of things they wouldn’t have done. Making them kill themselves, Dean.” He looked at Dean with pity.

_Evil is a choice._ Sam’s words came back to him without invitation.

“Bobby, none of these kids asked for this.”

“I know. I do. But that don’t change the fact that they’re a danger to the people around them and probably to themselves. Hell, look at your Sam. Does he seem happy to you? Jim’s given him a decent life for the past ten years, a roof over his head and plenty of stability and affection, but he’s still out there looking for any kind of affection he can get anywhere he can get it.” He shook his head.

“Like any hunter’s got any stones to throw about that, Bobby,” Dean objected. He didn’t know why he was defending Sam, not after the kid had hid so much from him, but hiding things that were pretty personal at the end of the day was a world away from deciding to enlist with the king of Hell.

“Didn’t he say you broke up?” Bobby tried.

“I’m pissed that he was hiding his superpowers,” Dean said firmly. “I’m angry. I don’t want to be close with him, no. And the yellow eyes – that grosses me out, not gonna lie. But that doesn’t mean that I want to waste him, man. He can choose to be good. He loves Pastor Jim. And you’d be pretty screwed up if your family just dumped you like trash.” Funny how he could excuse things to Bobby – like the secrecy. Of course he hadn’t wanted to admit to his abilities. “Azazel did something to him, against his will. He shouldn’t be penalized for it.”

“Dean, his family didn’t throw him out like trash. They foisted him on Jim because they knew.” He rubbed at his face. “He wouldn’t tell me who the boy’s family were but he told me that the kid’s father was a hunter. The guy unloaded him on Jim because he couldn’t have a kid with him that people would see as fair game.”

“What a dick.” Yeah, he could say that now but he’d screamed at Sam and then subjected him to fourteen and a half hours of silence, hadn’t even fed him or anything.

“He had his reasons,” Bobby said, stretching out. “Might have been kinder just to kill him at the end of the day, but that’s neither here nor there. We’ll have to go figure out what to do about him eventually but first we need to go find Jim Murphy. Go upstairs and see what you can find that belongs to Pastor Jim, okay? A toothbrush or something.”

He ran upstairs, finding a lone toothbrush in the bathroom. Right – because Sam’s was in his suitcase. In the trunk of the Impala. Because they’d been travelling together, sharing a hotel room. Sharing a bed. Until Dean had completely failed to empathize with a scared kid.

_We broke up._

_Or what. You’ll shoot me?_

He’d had a boyfriend for all of three days. Or was it four? Great job there Winchester, he thought to himself. Batting a thousand. Damn good thing those genes aren’t getting passed on. He didn’t know what Sam was planning to do, wherever he was with Meg. Maybe he was giving in, a fit of teenage pique and angst combining with very justifiable anger and rejection to send him over to the enemy. Or maybe he was trying to be a hero, a skinny eighteen-year-old kid trying to take on the viceroy of Hell all by his lonesome. Either way, it couldn’t end well for anyone.

Bobby, meanwhile, had gone out to his car. He came back a moment later with a small bag of supplies: a map of the local area, a candle and a small copper bowl. He pulled a knife out of his boot and shaved the toothbrush bristles into the bowl before grabbing a couple of stoppered glass jars and adding more components. “What’re you doing, Bobby?” Dean asked.

“Location spell,” his friend replied, not taking his eyes off the bowl. “Pass me that map there, would you? Depending on whatever countermeasures this bastard’s taken we should be able to find Jim and hopefully help him before it’s too late.”

“He’ll still be alive,” Dean predicted, putting a hand onto Bobby’s shoulder. “They were using him as bait to get Sam – Jim’s the only family Sam has.”

Bobby sighed. “Are you sure about that, kid? I mean, his real family’s out there.”

“They’re not his real family, Bobby. They dumped him here and left him – ‘like garbage,’ he says. The only person who’s ever cared about him is Jim. He doesn’t care about them anymore. Sam wouldn’t cross the street for them.”

“What about you,” Bobby grimaced. “You got real attached, don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“Yeah. Well, that don’t matter. We’re not… I mean. We had a bit of a difference of opinion on the way back here and it was very clear that he doesn’t need my help. So let’s just focus on saving Jim.” He swallowed. He’d caused that, and now Sam might die. Probably would die, either because he’d gone dark side or because he’d put himself in harm’s way because he didn’t trust Dean anymore. Because Dean had made it very clear that he didn’t trust him.

“Well where we find one we’ll hopefully find the other,” Bobby told him with a twitch to his lips. He didn’t say anything about what they were going to do with the kid, but that was fine. “Let’s get this party started. “ He lit the candle and began chanting in Latin. Not for the first time Dean eyed his mentor with discomfort. John Winchester had never had much time for spell work; it got dangerously close to witchcraft was what he always said, and didn’t they hunt witches? But Bobby got results and there was no hint of taint on his pure soul. He finished the chanting and used the candle to ignite the materials in the bowl, which flared up into a foul-smelling mess like only burning plastic could offer. Dean tried to breathe shallow breaths and wished he’d found something other than a toothbrush with the priest’s DNA on it. Finally, Bobby dipped a corner of the local street map into the flame.

The map caught instantly. “Bobby, what the hell?” Dean gasped. “We need that!”

“Relax,” his elder ordered with an eye roll. “All we need to worry about is the part of the map where Pastor Jim is. I’ve got like six of them out in the truck.”

The flames died down. Bobby looked at what remained. “That’s an old abandoned farm,” he remembered. “It’s about half an hour from here maybe? I think you squatted there once with your dad and the baby, back before you knew Jim all that well. Come on, let’s get going. Time’s a-wasting.”

Dean started his car and Bobby slid into position. Bobby’s truck might have been a better option – it was larger, probably better equipped all things considered, but the Impala had earned the right to be there. She’d been there in the before time – she’d carried John and Mary back from the Justice of the Peace, carried Dean and baby Sammy both home from the hospital. She’d been their only home, their only consistent home and sometimes their only walls or roof, after the fire. Sometimes she’d been their only hospital too. Now she was going to be there for the end of it. The Yellow-Eyed Demon – Azazel – had taken everything from him. He’d killed his mother, his father, his baby brother. He’d corrupted his lover, driven them apart. Now all that was left was Dean and his car, but by all that was holy he was going to see this end. Tonight.

They drove out to the farm in silence. Dean couldn’t remember the place; it had been too long and just another in the seemingly endless stream of abandoned buildings and makeshift shelters that John had thought suitable for his children in those days. Sam should be grateful he hadn’t had to live through that, Dean thought, and maybe it was mean of him but he didn’t try to fight the thought off. Maybe the guy’s bio family had thrown him away but at least he’d gotten to have a real life instead of spending it all preparing for this.

The place, though, was everything that a guy looking for a final confrontation with his family’s demonic nemesis could possibly want. Dean turned off the lights as he turned up the dirt driveway. It was a minor gesture; it wasn’t as though they wouldn’t have been able to hear his baby coming from a mile away anyway. As the car rolled up to the front of the house with its sagging, peeling porch, the door opened. Pastor Jim walked out. His throat had been cut from ear to ear, but his face smiled broadly and he walked with a grace and fluidity that he’d lacked in life.

“Oh, balls,” Bobby whispered.

“Possessed,” Dean declared grimly.

“And they’ve killed his body,” his companion confirmed. “The demon’s the only thing keeping him walking around. There’s no way to tell if he’s still in there or not.”

“Dean,” Jim Murphy’s voice called cheerfully. “And Bobby Singer. It’s good to see you both. There are a couple of Adirondack chairs over there.” He gestured toward a pair of chairs nestled in the tall grass. They looked fairly new. “I’m glad you’re here. We can have a chat, maybe clear some things up.”

Dean reached into the curse-box-cum-pistol-case and withdrew the Colt. “The only thing I’m going to clear,” he vowed in a gruff voice, “is your stain from the earth.

“Oh, but Dean-o,” the demon said, tilting his head to the side and smiling gently. “What happens to loverboy then? See, you might be able to get rid of me. You might not, and my money’s on not since that hunk of steel isn’t even loaded. But you know – details, right?” He gestured and the weapon in Dean’s hand became hot, too hot to hold. The stench of burning flesh filled the air and he hollered, dropping the gun.

Azazel gestured again and both men found themselves forced into the Adirondack chairs, unable to move. “That’s better,” the demon said as Dean’s hand throbbed. “It’s been a little while, you know. Since you and I’ve seen one another, I mean. Hey, Singer, did Dean tell you I actually rode his daddy before John Winchester, Senior made his way into Hell?”

“My father’s not in Hell, you son of a bitch,” Dean ground out, cradling his burned limb to his chest. He could move that much at least. “He’s in Heaven.”

Azazel scoffed. “Please, Dean. You’re not even sure that Heaven exists. And hey – you know who should really be a part of this discussion? I’d like my boy to be out here too. Hey Sam – why don’t you come on out here and join us? I’m pretty sure you’re going to be very interested to hear this.”

Sam emerged from the house. He didn’t seem to be restrained in any way. Meg stood close by him, a hand on his back, but Sam had done something back at the rectory to show that she didn’t have a whole lot of power over him. He didn’t look thrilled, but he didn’t look upset either. He had that same shuttered-up look he’d had in the car, no emotion whatsoever on that beautiful vulpine face of his. Meg, on the other hand, looked nervous. “So you’ve chosen sides, have you, boy?” Bobby demanded.

“My side was chosen a long time ago, Singer,” Sam told him in that cold, terrible tone he’d used when he’d essentially broken things off with Dean. “Not that I ever had a choice. Not really. That’s what you’ve been saying all along, though, isn’t it?” He met Dean’s eyes once, briefly, before looking away. Dean’s stomach roiled. Those yellow orbs, where once had been nothing but beautiful kaleidoscopic hazel, were too much to take. Which was the false color?

“No, you really didn’t, did you?” Azazel mused. “I mean, even before you were born. I was always going to do my experiments, you know. I needed people. I needed people who were loyal to me, but had abilities, and who weren’t limited by pesky things like salt and iron. Human, or at least human enough. You already know about those experiments. There’ve been a few incidents – they think they’re competing for something.”

“Aren’t they?” Bobby asked him.

“Sure. No one wants weak creations running around, you know. But Sam here, he’s special.” Azazel grinned, and now Dean thought he might actually throw up now. He’d always hated that word, hated it the first time he heard his father spit it out like it was some kind of curse. “I’ve worked ever so hard to find you, Sammy. The pesky priest was hiding you the whole time. Up until my daughter – your sister – possessed you, of course.”

Sam allowed himself a thin smile. “I’ll bet that was a stroke of luck, right?” He leaned back a little bit into Meg’s touch and Dean looked away. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous or disgusted but either way he couldn’t watch. The guy was drawing comfort from the touch of a demon – from the touch of a demon who had violated him specifically. Was it Stockholm syndrome or just nature over nurture?

“Boy, I guess I was right about you,” Dean said to Sam then.

The kid gave a little laugh. “Yeah. Heh. I guess you were. I guess we were right about each other, in the end.”

And what the Hell was that supposed to mean? He’d been nothing but good to Sam! Or, well, okay. He had kind of flown off the handle about the whole vision thing. Of course he’d been proven right when Sam had turned around and thrown himself right into Azazel’s arms.

Was it him or was the Colt moving?

He glanced at Bobby, who glanced at him. Neither of them risked a glance at Sam. But at least Bobby had seen it too.

“You know, there’s a reason I possessed your father, Dean,” the monster controlling Pastor Jim’s body continued. “It’s not because of my deep, personal vendetta against the Winchester family. On the contrary, there never was any vendetta.”

“You slaughtered my entire family,” Dean spat back.

“Did I? Your mom, sure. But she went back on her word. Twice, I’ll point out. She made a deal and she tried to weasel out of it; she had to go. I liked her; I regretted having to do that to her. But what kind of viceroy would I be if I let people get away with breaking deals? No. Your brother had to be born and I had to have access to him. Out of all of my ‘experiments,’ Dean, he’s my favorite.”

“My little brother is dead,” Dean reminded him. “You killed him.”

“Did I? Did you see the body?” He gave a low little laugh. “Or did you just take Daddy Dearest’s word for it? Because I’ve got to say, John Winchester was a lot of things and father of the year was none of them.”

“He did the best he could!” Dean yelled, heart hammering against his ribs.

“Really? Then why couldn’t he allow you to mourn for the brother I allegedly killed? Honestly, Dean try to put on your thinking cap. Your brother was the reason for all of it, you know. Every last little detail. Every deal, every child I shared my blood with – it was all for darling little Sammy. My little Prince.”

Prince. Dean felt a pit form in his stomach.

“I looked for him. But your father, he hid him well. I thought that maybe he’d had the balls to kill him outright. When I possessed him a few months ago I did some poking around, I checked. The man had secrets, Dean-o. Most of them were locked up tighter than a drum. But he hadn’t killed Sammy. Probably should have, in the greater scheme of things.” Behind him, Sam shrugged silently. “I’m glad he didn’t, though. I’m proud of the man my boy’s becoming.”

“You think you found my little brother.”

“I know I did,” Azazel purred. “The last time I possessed your father was to get access to his journal, but the stubborn fool had torn out the pages from his journal that referred to your brother. Anything after that incident with the succubus I sent to collect your brother before.”

Dean remembered that. It had been a horrible night, terrifying on so many levels. “And you think he’s hidden here in town,” he pushed, not wanting to hear the demon’s words.

“Not so much. Not anymore. See, my girl, my daughter Meg here, she happened to possess Sam Murphy by chance one day. And she recognized something a lot more powerful than some normal teenaged psychic. Which even if I hadn’t seen to things personally he would have been, by the way. That’s part of what drew me to the line. So I started scoping out the town. Blue Earth Fucking Minnesota, can you believe it?” He shook his head. “Rural America. Rosy pink cheeks, football team – well, basketball for him, you know.”

“You think Sam – Sam Murphy – is my little brother.” He felt his gorge rise again and instead focused on the gun. It was almost at his feet, if he could just get free. Of course there was the issue of ammo – if he could only manage to get to the damn box.

“Oh, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure until I got into the good padre’s head here,” he said cheerily. “But yes. Your father decided to dump your darling little Sammy on Pastor Jim’s doorstep and trust to him to either contain him or put a bullet in his head.” He gave a little chuckle as Dean turned his head and vomited. “Oh yeah. That’s the spirit. Right there. See, little Sammy was already showing signs of being one of mine. And just between you and me, Johnny was entertaining some doubts about Sammy’s paternity.”

Rage filled Dean then. “My mother would never –”

“No. Not knowingly.” He shrugged. “Even John admitted that it wouldn’t have been difficult, if you know what I mean. And with a kid throwing off as much power as Sammy here – well, it wasn’t exactly a big intuitive leap.”

Dean’s eyes finally tore themselves up to Sam. His – the guy, he wasn’t sure how to think of Sam anymore – watched him impassively. “And you’re just… okay with this?”

“I get a choice?” Sam’s mouth twitched in a smirk. It wasn’t pretty. “Least this way I get a family that wants me.”

“Aw, Sammy. Your brother wanted you before,” Meg teased with a nasty sneer. “We’re all going to Hell, might as well enjoy the ride, right?”

Sam’s corresponding smile was tight, but at least he made the effort. “Nah, he kicked me to the curb before this little revelation. But hey – I’m sure we can find other entertainment sources, right?”

Her answering chuckle was delighted, throaty and lascivious. They were just joking, right? Sam wouldn’t move on just like that – and what would demons find entertaining anyway? Bobby was gaping at him. “What?” he whispered to his mentor.

“You and him?” Bobby hissed back.

“You said you knew we’d gotten ‘attached.’”

“That’s not the part I thought you’d gotten attached to!”

Yeah, humor would get him through this. Sure it would. “So why kill Dad if you didn’t have a personal thing against the Winchesters?” Dean prompted, hoping to keep the demon talking until either he or Bobby figured out a plan. He wasn’t going to let himself think about the fact that he’d been screwing his brother, just wasn’t going to think about that at all.

“Oh – he was getting too close. And killing off my experiments. I couldn’t have that. But there’s no reason you can’t go about your merry way. You did make my boy here very happy. Briefly.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean grimaced. “Thanks for that little reminder, pal. What exactly is it that you need Sammy for again? I mean, he’s a young kid.”

“Every ruler needs an heir, Dean.” Azazel smiled beatifically from Pastor Jim’s face. “What do you say, Dean? You give me the gun. You get to go back to your life. I’ll even let you have a night with Sammy again, for old times’ sake. I’m sure he won’t mind, right? I mean, you both liked it before you found out.”

Dean shuddered. “I’ll pass on that last bit, thanks. I’m so not here for the passing the twink around like a joint at a party. But I appreciate the sentiment, big guy.” A twitch in Sam’s hand was the only indication he gave of feeling anything. It could have been anger, but at whom was it directed? “But… I mean, demons, right? You’re not just some pissant acheri. You’re… you’re the stand-in for Lucifer Himself. That’s… that’s way above my pay grade, man.”

“Dean!” Bobby objected.

“Be realistic, Bobby. He’s holding us here with a thought, okay? If we don’t give him the damn gun he’s going to make lampshades out of our skin or some crap like that. If we do we can get back to hunting things that we can kill, you know? Things that go bump in the night, things that truly can’t help themselves. I say we do it. And honestly, it’s my gun.” He turned his head back to Azazel. He hoped he was reading Sam right, hoped that this wasn’t all some kind of joke from Sam or from one of the other demons, from Meg or Azazel himself or Stunt Demon 741 behind the fallen-down silo or something. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll surrender the Colt?” Azazel urged, as Bobby sagged in his chair.

“Yeah. I’ll give you the Colt. It’s all yours,” Dean sighed. He knew he looked agonized, and that was fine because he felt like he’d been chewing on broken glass. “Let me just pick it up for you.”

He bent down slowly, grabbing the antique firearm and the bullets as he gathered his energy. Then, moving as quickly and as fluidly as he could, he loaded the pistol and brought it online. “What do you think you’re –” Azazel began with a smirk. His humor turned to rage, however, as he realized that he was unable to move.

“Do it,” Sam gritted out. His smooth face was lined with exertion and dripping with sweat. “Fucking do it!”

Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet left the barrel like it was in slow motion, an explosion and a puff of smoke followed by a small blessed iron ball. Dean watched it sail through the air until it hit directly between what had once been Pastor Jim’s eyebrows. Meg screamed as her father’s form lit up, all orange and yellow under the stolen skin. Then the corpse fell to the ground.

Bobby rose to his feet and clapped Dean on the back. “Nice work, Dean,” he exclaimed. “I’m proud of you.”

Dean stood for a moment and let the elation wash through him. It was over. Everything that he’d endured – the slaughter of his parents, the loss of his brother – he had taken it all back. With a single pull of the trigger he, Dean Winchester, had avenged his family and that felt pretty damn good. Wherever his father was (not in Hell, not in Hell, not in Hell) he might be proud of him now. He might have fucked up at everything else in his life, he might not have finished high school and maybe he couldn’t remember the most basic exorcism and maybe oh yeah he’d had sex with his little brother but he’d successfully hunted down the monster that had ruined their family.

Of course, he hadn’t done it alone. He had Bobby Singer right here, Bobby who’d been through it all with him and helped both him and Dad. And Sam, of course. Sam who had helped him to get the gun. Sam who had told him about Azazel. Sam who had used the telekinetic powers Dean had despised to move the gun over to him slowly and subtly, so that Azazel wouldn’t notice. Sam who had used whatever kind of mojo he had to keep Azazel from moving or smoking out or whatever while Dean shot him, held him down as it were.

He looked around, seeking out his former lover – his brother, he corrected himself. That still felt strange. It would probably always seem strange, but he would worry about that later. Right now he had to deal with an eighteen year old with superpowers who had just learned some pretty disturbing information himself. He needed to find the kid before things got out of hand.

Sam was with Meg, still on the porch near the crooked door. Her face was torn between pain and hate, a mirror to his. He finally seemed to get the upper hand just as Dean got close, though; her host body tossed back her head and opened her mouth, emitting an astonishing volume of thick black smoke. It tried to get away but found itself pulled toward a suddenly glowing spot on the ground; somehow, without a word, Sam had exorcised Meg from her host. Dean realized with a start that he’d done the same thing to Travis, way back when they’d first met. The host body collapsed toward the ground. Dean reached out to catch her, acting more on instinct than anything else. Sam met his eyes briefly before running, back and into the house. “Sam – wait!” he called.

Sam did not wait.

Bobby appeared to take a position on the girl’s other side. Without a demon inside her she looked impossibly young, young and sick. “She’s got a pulse,” he identified. “I can’t tell what else might be wrong with her. Who knows how long Sam’s ‘sister’s’ been riding her, you know? At best it’s going to be a lifetime of therapy bills.”

Dean grimaced. “Yeah, well. I gather possession isn’t exactly a picnic.”

“They ride ‘em hard and put ‘em away wet.” A shadow passed over his face then, and Dean knew that he was thinking of his late wife. “We should get her to a hospital.”

“Good plan. You go ahead. I’m going to try to find Sammy.”

“You gonna…” He indicated the Colt.

“What? No. I mean, probably not. He helped us, Bobby. He’s the one who held Azazel back. He’s the one who made sure we could get the Colt and he exorcised Meg. The kid just lost the only family he’s ever known and he helped to make sure that happened.” He shook his head. “He’s good, Bobby.”

“You got some way of making sure he stays that way?” He sighed. “Dean, look. I get it. He was a good looking kid, you had no idea who he was, but… I mean, come on.”

“I can keep my hands to myself, Bobby. Besides, like he said before. We, uh, we called it off. Before any of this,” he gestured toward the farm and its house, “came about.”

“Why?”

“Trust. I wasn’t cool with the psychic thing. He wasn’t cool with the hunter thing. Neither one of us can change who or what we are.” He sighed. “And it’s for the best, now that we know. So. I’m going to go find my little brother and see if there’s anything I can say or do to help him through this. He thought we – he thought I – threw him away. Because he was garbage. I’ve got ten years of big brothering to catch up on.”

He walked into the farmhouse. The place was a wreck. It had clearly been a place young local kids used as a hideout or retreat, and of course a large part of the problem with places like that is that no one ever feels compelled to clean them up. He made his way gingerly through the debris, broken glass and rotting carpets and food wrappers. Had John Winchester honestly thought that someplace like this was a suitable place to stash his sons while he went off to save other people’s lives?

Maybe he hadn’t been father of the year, at that.

Sam was nowhere to be found on the bottom floor. Neither were the other two psychics Bobby had mentioned; there was no trace of them. They must have fled when stuff went sideways for them. Well, good riddance to them. They’d signed on with the regent of freaking Hell. Maybe they’d done so willingly, maybe not. Dean would make the time to hunt them down for what they’d done to Bobby, to Jim Murphy. Of course, who knew how Azazel had suckered them in? Maybe he had some kind of hold over them, a relative or something. Maybe they could still be saved.

Damn it. Sam had gotten to him again.

The top floor – reached by a ladder since the stairs were no longer stable – held even more debris than the bottom, with torn-up books and old curtains and what had to be bat dung. He finally found Sam up here, huddled in one of the corners. Why the guy had decided to come hide up here instead of running off into the corn like the other kids Dean didn’t know, but since he was here Dean had to try to help. It would have been easier, he knew, if Sam had just taken off. Not right, but easier. He wouldn’t have had to face his own fears, his own failures. “You coping, man?” he asked, trying to seem indifferent.

Sam didn’t answer.

Dean moved closer. The guy had been sheltered – not as sheltered as most civilians, but still, he hadn’t exactly been a hunter now had he? Today he’d lost his only real family. There was Dean, but he probably wasn’t thinking of Dean that way, not yet. “If you want to, like talk about it or something,” he offered, squatting down beside his sibling.

Sam didn’t respond. Part of Dean got annoyed by that. He was an injured party too, and oh yeah he’d found out he’d been screwing his little brother, but he’d taken the time to check on the guy the least he could do was to be freaking civil. The rest of him noticed that Sam wasn’t breathing normally. His respirations were fast and shallow. Dean reached out and put a hand to his face; it came back cold and clammy.

“Shocky,” he identified. But when had Sam been injured? He ran a hand along Sam’s side and stopped when he felt dampness. It was dark up here, far too dark to be certain, but somehow that didn’t feel like sweat.

He picked Sam up and carried him back down the stairs. “Got another one for the hospital!” he yelled, so Bobby wouldn’t run off yet.

Bobby drove to the hospital. Dean handed over the keys without a flinch, even going so far as to take the back seat with Sam and try to keep him warm. They concocted a decent story for the doctors; Dean would have been hard pressed to remember it later but for now it would hold up. They let him wait for Sam on the grounds that he was family and they were having trouble reaching his uncle; they swallowed the “brother from back in Boston” story easily enough, everyone knew where Sam Murphy came from.

Sam’s injuries, as it turned out, were fairly extensive. He’d been stabbed in the side, losing a great deal of blood and injuring some internal bits Dean didn’t care about in the process. He thought maybe the spleen might have been one of them? “He didn’t even tell us he’d been hurt, Bobby,” he whispered as he sat in Sam’s hospital room and waited for him to wake up. “He just… scurried off to that room up there and waited for the end.”

Bobby sighed. “You need to decide what you want to do about the boy, Dean. And then you need to talk to him. Idjit.”

Floral offerings began to pour in from Sam’s classmates, but he stayed asleep for another two days. Dean had an opportunity to think about the future.

A future! He’d never had one of those before. Sure he’d indulged in a little fantasy during his road trip with Sam, but that hadn’t worked out so well. And… well, the Yellow-Eyed Demon was dead. Maybe… maybe he didn’t need to live this wandering lifestyle anymore. Maybe he could get a place. Settle down a little. Still hunt – every other hunter he knew, for the most part, lived somewhere.

But he needed to talk to his brother.

When Sam finally opened his eyes, they were hazel again. Dean would have been lying if he said he didn’t feel some relief about that. He blinked when he saw Dean.

“I’m in a hospital,” he identified.

“That you are.”

“With, uh… you’re here.”

“Uh-huh. Nothing gets by you, does it, Stanford guy?” He offered his best cheesy grin.

It got no response. “Why?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing. See what you wanted. When you recovered and everything. “

Sam stared at the ceiling. “I don’t need anything.”

“Bullshit, Sam. We can’t pretend we didn’t… that it didn’t happen. I mean, you lost your father figure, man.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “And, you know. Other stuff.”

Sam gave a bitter chuckle. “Other stuff. Right. Look. Thanks for getting me to the hospital. And for, you know, not killing me, I guess, if that’s what we’re going with. But –”

“Sam. Your beef is with Dad, okay? I was eleven. I didn’t have much control of the situation. He told me you died. Said you… said he burned you alone so I wouldn’t have to… to cope with that. Because I was ‘too young.’ I may be a fuck-up in a lot of ways but this? Not my fault.” He glared at his brother. Sam’s heart rate monitor picked up a little. “No one’s saying you’re responsible for that, Dean. It would’ve been nice to have been looked for or mourned or something, remembered, but whatever. I was kind of a crappy kid or else John would’ve wanted me, right? We know why now, anyway.” He snorted. “I just… Look, you’re leaving anyway, okay?”

“Who says?”

“Well I mean you’re pissed that I didn’t tell you things that would make you want to kill me so I think I’m going to go ahead and plead the fifth here.”

“Wow. You’ve been all butthurt about being rejected by your family but you’re the one pushing me away, Sam.” He shook his head.

“So you’re not leaving and you’re going to just accept whatever I say without getting pissy and judgmental about it.”

“I never get pissy. Or judgmental.”

Sam’s face told him what he thought about that. To be honest, the only weird thing about it was the idea that Sam could read him that easily with so little knowledge of him. “What if I told you that I don’t care about the brothers thing?” Sam shot back.

Dean wasn’t sure how to describe his emotion at that point – part horror, part joy, part something vaguely like heartburn but with less physical acid. “What?”

“I mean, when I came to Pastor Jim’s – when I got dumped there – he told me I had to forget everything about who I’d been. Name, everything. That meant essentially forgetting being a younger brother. So I’m kind of in this place where brother is just a word – like I know you’re my brother, same mother, probably same father, but it feels weird to me. Not… not real, not significant. So… it doesn’t change anything for me.“

Dean took a deep breath and held it. “Yeah. Okay. But here’s the thing. We broke up. You said so.” He looked away.

“Yeah. I did.” Dean wasn’t looking but he could hear the bedding shift. “Right. Cause you were so affectionate when you found out about the visions.” He sighed. “It was a stupid thing anyway. I mean, you’re a hunter. I’m not.” Dean looked back at his brother. Sam had lowered his head back to the pillow. “Have a nice life, Dean.”

“Sam, I’m not going to leave you alone,” he told him, reaching out for his hand.

“I don’t need your pity, Dean. Pastor Jim had life insurance; I’ll get an apartment in Palo Alto. I’ll be fine.” He sounded tired. Was it the drugs they were giving him, or something else?

“Sam, Meg’s still out there. I mean, you exorcised her but she’ll be back eventually. And there are other kids, other psychics like you.” He swallowed. “I can’t leave you alone and unprotected.”

“I’m hardly unprotected, Dean. Meg’s going to make a play for the throne of Hell. The last thing she wants is competition, and she knows that the last thing I want is to compete with her. And If Azazel isn’t around to try to play us against each other I don’t think the other psychics will be a problem for me. It might not be the life you’d want for yourself, but – “ He shrugged. “I’ll go to school. Then law school. Set up a practice. Succeed.”

“Get married,” Dean pressed, not wanting to acknowledge the way his mouth went dry at the thought. “Two point five kids, the whole nine.”

“Nah,” Sam waved. “I mean, all this… this… shouldn’t be passed on. I don’t think I’m cut out for family life anyway.” He offered a thin, professional smile. “Anyway. I’m sure you’ve got a job to get on to or something. How’s Singer?”

“He’s fine. Says I should bring you over to Sioux Falls sometime.” He shrugged. Sam gave a little huff of laughter. “What?”

“Dean, come on. You wouldn’t voluntarily bring me anywhere, unless it was to finally put me away. And it may not be much of a life, but I’m not ready to have it end.” He turned his head toward the window.

“Sam.” He tried to take Sam’s hand again; Sam again pulled his hand away. “Look. You might have stopped being a little brother – and I understand that, sort of. I mean, you did what you had to do. But you… you gotta understand, you… I hated myself for ten, eleven years for losing you. I never stopped being a big brother, Sam, I just didn’t have anyone to be a big brother to. You were never unwanted; I missed you like burning, and I missed you every day.” He sighed. “The sex thing… it complicates things.”

“No,” Sam said. “It really doesn’t. Not if we don’t want it to.” He still wasn’t looking at Dean.

“I’m. Um. I’ve never been a long-term kind of guy, Sam. Even when Dad was around we weren’t… you know… around each other. I don’t…. I don’t know how I’m going to feel. What I’m going to want, what you’re going to want. But I want to be around you. As a brother, as a friend, as something else, I don’t know. I want to be with you. I don’t know how yet, but… I’m willing to give it a try. Maybe set up in a place down in Stanford? I’ll get a job as a mechanic?” This time, Sam didn’t pull his hand away. “I lost you once. I ain’t doing that again.”

Sam squeezed back. “Promise,” he demanded, looking up at Dean with something between ferocity and hope.


End file.
